


a different kind of bloodlust

by violescent



Category: Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Blood Drinking, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Humor, Intimacy, Mira HQ (Among Us), Multi, Non-Violent Impostor, Original Character(s), Polus (Among Us), Quick Burn, Secrets, Sensuality, The Skeld (Among Us), The opposite of a slow burn okay?, Vampires, fast burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27050092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violescent/pseuds/violescent
Summary: As more and more crewmates aboard The Skeld learn about Red's secret, they find themselves inevitably becoming closer to him.
Relationships: Crewmate/Impostor (Among Us), Red & Everyone (Among Us), Red/Everyone (Among Us), Red/Pink (Among Us)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 125





	1. pink

**Author's Note:**

> hey there! it's spooky season and so I combined two things I love: Among Us, and vampire fic. don't judge even though it's a weird combo, for sure.
> 
> as the tags indicate, because it's a vampire au, i didn't go the typical violent impostor route. additionally, each of the crewmates are unique and have actual human names and appearances. they're all my ocs, and as they get introduced, i'll put a little mini-profile of them in the end notes. 
> 
> that being said, by no means will this fic be finished in time for halloween. there is also a thin, loose idea of a "story" here but in reality, i just wanted to picture Red biting into everyone, okay? blood is good. death is not.

**THE SKELD**

Pink doesn't trust any of her teammates as far as she can throw them. There have been rumors of other teams running into impostors—aliens, assassins, other infiltrators—that wipe out half or most of the crewmates onboard. There are even a few unfortunate stories about entire ships of innocent people falling prey to the deception before them.

MIRA doesn't have the best return rate of their employees. This is common knowledge. This is also the reason why they pay their employees so much, and the reason why people down on their luck but good at their jobs get hired on a second's notice. It's Pink's reason for being on The Skeld, after all, and she'll be damned if she ends up floating lifeless in the endless void because of her incompetent allies.

As she thinks this, she stumbles into the medical bay to witness a horrid sight.

Red is covered in blood.

Absolutely _covered_ in it.

And Purple's body is collapsed on the floor.

Realistically, Pink and the other crewmates should be well-equipped for emergencies. There is an emergency call button in the cafeteria, and emergency levers in every conceivable room. Once the alarm goes off, the others should be notified, and the situation will be dealt with accordingly.

Yet, the moment she is faced with an actual emergency, she stands completely still. Red has the audacity to freeze up, as if _she_ is the one in the wrong here. Though their helmets are on, she can only imagine what kind of wicked expression he's making underneath the glass. Even worse is the face _Purple_ must have made in their final moments of life, before Red snuffed it out of them like a candle's flame.

"Pink," Red breathes out. "Wait, I can explain—"

"I'm sure you can," she snaps. "In _Hell."_

Pink swivels on her heels, ready to run towards the cafeteria. It would be easier to pull the medbay lever, but Purple's body and Red's presence stand in between her and the latch. Just as she runs straight for the door, however, it slams shut.

Her hands grasp fervently at the edges, only to find smooth metal automation. She gives it a few bangs for good measure, but nothing happens.

The final nail in her coffin.

She hears Red walking towards her. "Please, just listen to me."

"You murdered Purple!" Pink sobs. She remembers the last thing she said to Purple—a cursory _fuck you_ in Electrical when they kept messing with the light switches just to piss her off. They weren't the best of friends, everyone knew that, but never in a million years would Pink wish them death.

Now, she can't do anything but watch as the killer slowly makes his way towards her, feigning innocence to get her to lower her guard in her last seconds of life.

Not a chance.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Red pleads. "I swear, this is just a misunderstanding."

"Right, you didn't kill Purple, you're not going to hurt me, and the closed doors are just faulty wiring." She squints at him, hard, hoping her sardonic tone bleeds through the cracks in her voice, since her glass is (mostly) shatterproof. "Don't lie to me, Red. Not like this."

He stops moving. She holds her breath. Then, the strangest thing happens.

Red takes off his helmet. It's not a forbidden action, per se, but MIRA guidelines says that it's best to keep the suit on at all times in order to prevent sickness and contamination. Plus the oxygen on The Skeld goes haywire at times, so you wouldn't want to be caught unaware just because you decided you needed some "fresh" air.

With his helmet off, Pink can see Red's face for everything he is. And he _is_ quite handsome, with his somewhat short dark hair, deep brown eyes, and kind face. His chapped lips are drawn into a frown, and there is no mistaking the blood dripping from his exposed fangs.

_Wait, fangs?_

Pink glances from Red, to Purple, to Red, and back to Purple—only to see the purple mass on the floor groan and heave slightly. "What the fuck," she whispers. "I thought Purple was dead."

"I told you I didn't kill them," Red insists. The door remains shut behind Pink, but something in his voice seems to expect her to stay. "Will you listen? I don't want you to be afraid of me, Pink."

An eternity passes between Red's quiet whispers and Pink's silent admonishments. Then, even when the door opens up behind her, Pink stands her ground.

She takes off her helmet, too. There is no barrier between her eyes and Red's, though admittedly, she felt a sense of unease revealing herself to him. With the helmet off, he can plainly see her for all she is: medium-length blonde hair in messy waves, bright hazel eyes, and a distinctive beauty mark on her lower jaw. Her skin, the color of the setting sun, is impeccably smooth and blemish-free.

Pink is a bit of a primp, but everyone knows that. Though seeing her face so clearly in a while has Red breathless, and he stares for a moment longer than what is considered normal. "Sorry," he mutters. "Okay, let me show you." He gestures to Purple, who is apparently still alive.

Against her better judgement, Pink follows his lead, and grimaces as the unconscious body is propped up against one of the infirmary beds. "If Purple's not dead, what did you do to them?"

Red fidgets for a moment, before carefully removing Purple's helmet. Thankfully, their head remains attached to their neck, though it lulls to the side, eyes shut in a painful expression. Pink grimaces, and for a split second considers straightening them out, though decides against it. Red steps up in her place, and hauls Purple's body onto the bed it was previously leaning on. Limbs spread wide, face screwed into discomfort—Pink feels really bad for them, until she remembers that it could've been her, instead.

Red's silence in response to her question isn't helping, either. Before she can say something scathing, however, he speaks up.

"I bit them."

Silence.

"Pink?"

"What are you, a cannibal?" Her voice is toneless, but there is true fear hidden underneath the layer of shock. "Why would you bite them?"

He wants to run a hand through his hair, but remembers that his suit is still on, and there's nothing he can do for it. Hands limp at his side, he looks defeated. "Because I needed their blood."

"You are a _fucking_ cannibal," Pink hisses. "Don't try to frame it different, acting like you didn't just try to _eat_ Purple, like actually eat them up—"

"I needed their blood to _survive,"_ Red insists. "I...need _blood_ to survive."

There is something new in Pink. It isn't understanding, compassion, or acceptance. It is _curiosity,_ and her hatred seems to wane slightly as she asks, "Wait, seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Are you an alien?"

He winces at that. "N-Not in _that_ way...I'm not here to kill everyone, or destroy everything. I'm pretty much human except for—"

"The blood?"

"The blood."

Quiet. Awkward shuffling. Then, a question. "So you drank Purple's blood...to live?"

Red looks tired as he nods. "I did. I asked them for permission, and they were fine with it, but I—" he glances at the unconscious friend in question— "might have taken too much."

"Might have? You're _drenched_ in it." Pink darts forward, gloved hands skimming over the stained surface of Red's suit. He seems taken aback by this, as if he hadn't wanted her to trust him in the first place. "Does it...hurt?"

She is so close that Red can smell her perfume. It's flowery, with a tiny hint of sunshine and sweat, as a result of all her hard work. He resists the urge to close his eyes and inhale—he doesn't need her to think he's more of a weirdo than he already is. "Does _what_ hurt?" he mutters. "Biting someone or being thirsty?"

Pink blinks owlishly at him. "Both?"

"Being thirsty is like being hungry, but not just a simple hunger. It's the kind of hunger that makes you feel lightheaded, that makes your body shake." Red shudders. "At some point, the thirst is uncontrollable, so I try to keep it from getting to that point."

"And the biting?"

He eyes her warily. "I wouldn't know. Most people don't stick around to tell me. I'm sure when Purple wakes up, they'll hate me for what I've done to them."

"You don't know that," she points out. "And Purple is such an insincere—" _bastard_ — "person that they wouldn't tell you the truth even if you asked."

And he _will_ ask. Of that, there is no doubt. Yet the way Pink's tone has changed on a dime, without even needing Red's vampiric influence to come into play, makes him realize: "Are you trying to tell me something?"

She sounds too innocent in her reply. "What do you mean?"

"Pink, are you offering to—"

"If you're still thirsty, then I don't mind."

" _Pink."_ Red feels strange scolding her, especially since he went through such lengths to convince her of his innocence in the first place, but her implications are too dreadful to ignore. "Pink, are you okay? Is the oxygen off in here? Put your helmet back on and—"

"Don't psychoanalyze me, Red," she warns in a low voice. "I know what I'm implying."

"..."

"I mean, if I'm going to be privy to some awful secret, then I might as well get something out of it."

"You realize that by drinking you, the only person getting something out of it is _me,_ right?" Red tries to sound disgusted, but a stronger, deeper part of him wants this. He wants this so _badly._ "Pink, I don't want to hurt you—"

She steps forward, barely an arm's length away from him at this point. He is a whole head taller than she is, but when her eyes glimmer up in his direction, he feels his throat close with hesitation. "Then don't hurt me, Red," she says simply. "Come on."

He pauses. "But Purple—"

"If I end up a heap on the ground like Purple, then I am _so_ not forgiving you."

"Okay, fair enough." Red smiles. "I promise to be gentler."

Pink's face brightens into a shade of red. _His_ red, she amuses herself thinking. "Shut up. Let's just get this over with."

"You're weird," he murmurs. "But okay."

Despite the clunky space suits and Purple's blood drying before them, Pink finds this moment in time—the one where Red leans down towards her, hands gently guiding her head to an opportune angle, mouth parting to reveal the length of his pearly white canines—strangely romantic. It feels like one of those old-school YA romance novels, where the love interest finally gives in, and the girl stands there helpless and excited at the prospect of something _new._ Something bright, intense, and passionate. And the more Pink thinks about it, the more she realizes what a gigantic _crush_ she's had on Red this whole time, blood-sucking notwithstanding, but if the cute boy in a red suit happens to also be a bloodsucker, what could she complain about?

The second his fangs make contact with her neck, however, she closes her eyes against the sight. It is a vulnerable position to put one's self into, she thinks, and how strange that Purple had been the one to offer before her. Had it been like this? Had the distance been so...nominal? So _minute?_ And was their breath as bated as Pink's, whose chest seems to constrict on herself, heart pumping a mile a minute until—

 _Snap._ The tautness of her skin gives way, and Red sinks his fangs into the base of her neck. She gasps, for lack of a proper reaction, and nearly stumbles backward. It isn't until seconds later when she's still upright does she realize Red was the one to save her, as his arms wrap tightly around her to prevent her falling. His embrace feel warm and strong, and though her neck bristles with a shock of discomfort and a haze of pain, she thinks it's alright, as long as Red is the one to do this to her.

 _Wait, Red?_ It occurs to Pink that she might've made a mistake along the way—that some strange influence of Red took her over, and now she stands there paying the price for her misguided decisions. He promised he wouldn't hurt her, but what if the innocence and the kindness is merely a ruse? One used to drain fellow crewmates of their blood, no less.

Just as she thinks this, Red pulls away, a tiny gasp escaping his lips as he forces his fangs to detract. Pink watches with horrid interest as her own blood drips from his mouth, dark crimson colors staining against the pink and the white. Instinctively, she puts a hand against her neck, but Red catches her arm by the wrist with unmet force, eliciting a tiny squeak from her mouth.

"I got it," he says. "Don't worry." He leans in closer, and his breath feels ten times warmer than it did before. Is his body warmed by her blood, too? Has she given him new life to live with? Her cheeks flush as something soft and sweet meets her neck, a small _mwah_ filling the air around her.

When Red pulls back, his lips are bloody, too, but Pink no longer feels a pool of pain gathering at her neck. She reaches to touch it, and what should've been teeth marks and fang holes were untouched skin, instead. She gawks at him for an explanation.

"It's, uh, hard to explain." He grins sheepishly. "But I fixed your wound, so no worries."

"Didyoujustkissmyneck."

"What?"

"What?" she parrots. "No, uh, it's just—I wasn't expecting that."

"Yeah, well, I can't just leave a gaping wound open, can I? And it'd be a waste to use the medbay supplies, so—" Red seems to have trouble keeping eye contact, so he shifts his gaze to the unconscious Purple in the same room. Pink envies the ignorant, blissful sleep they must be having now. "I did the same to Purple, so we don't have to worry. Uh, but maybe we should clean up, before the others think something weird is going on."

"Something weird _is_ going on," Pink mutters. "You're a bloodsucker and I'm a...normal sucker, I guess."

"Vampire."

"Excuse me?"

He burns bright red, and Pink thinks she sees some newfound vitality within him. Like he's glowing, or something. "The correct term is technically... _vampire._ As in, I'm a vampire."

"Vampire," she repeats. "I've never heard it before."

"It was a thing a long time ago. Though between The Skeld, MIRA, and other space-related things in the last century or so, it got lost somewhere." He sighs. "It's better for me that way, actually. I wouldn't want everyone knowing what I am."

"But you'll let me know?" Pink asks. "It's okay for me—and Purple, I guess—to know?"

Red flinches. "As long as you don't tell the others."

"Oh, I won't have to tell anyone anything," she laughs. "You know how the others are, especially Black and Cyan. They're gonna find out one way or another."

He pales at the mere mention of Black. Hopefully, the team's leader, White, can distract Black long enough for Red's vampirism to go unnoticed. At least until they reach Polus, and long before they even get back to MIRA HQ. He nods. "Right. Well, thank you, Pink. For trusting me." _And for feeding me,_ he wants to say, but decides against it.

She seems to catch onto his unsaid meaning, because the next thing he feels is a light punch to his shoulder. "Don't be so serious," she scolds. "And maybe get a snack or something for Purple. They look like shit."

"O-Okay," Red murmurs. "You're right, that's probably for the best. I'll be right back, okay?"

She rolls her eyes. "I did you this favor _once_ , Red. Don't get the wrong idea."

Yet, she continues to wait for him in medbay. Even when Purple wakes up, even when Red returns with a snack, even when Red has to have that awkward vampire-talk with Purple, she stays for Red.

And, days after the incident had passed, Pink finds herself naturally gravitating towards Red, whether it be during meals or tasks, whether having conversations big or small. They share moments quite often, between chatting near the stacked crates in Storage, laughing as they blast asteroids out of their orbit, and playing hide and seek in the vent system (Pink now understands how on other ships impostors got to slip away in the dark while bodies stacked in rooms).

There are better moments they have, too. Those quiet, hushed moments when it's "nighttime" on The Skeld, confined to admin or some other closed off room where no one can hear them speak. Or those nights they spend in Security hooking up the TV monitors to Red's phone so they can laugh their asses off at bad movies, or huddle together out of fear of the scarier ones. Those moments are good because Pink will scream and hide into Red's arm, and Red, barely braver than she is, pretends to be strong as he holds her close.

Close enough to hear her beating heart. Close enough to hear his breath.

And when the closeness is too intense to be ignored, they spend the best nights in medbay: stripped out of their MIRA-issued spacesuits, lights turned down low, the far bed used as a platform of roaming bodies and heated arguments—the two of them mere _seconds_ away from melting into each other. These are the moments that Pink remembers the most, with Red's mouth against her neck, her eyes shut against the darkness of the room, and the two of them gasping quietly for more. For every night spent like this, Pink finds herself wishing the day would never come, and wondering what life would be like back home, if she and Red moved in together, and if they didn't have to worry about their fellow crewmates walking in on what could be mistaken for a horrific scene: Red's mouth, bloodied, and Pink's neck, ruined and scarred, only for everything to revert to normal within the same hour, and the two of them continuing about their lives as if nothing had happened.

Whatever the outcome, Pink learns to find patience in her teammates.

She learns to find patience in Red.

And maybe she's lucky that their crew has no "impostors" to speak of—that the only threat to her wellbeing is Red and his beautiful eyes and sharp fangs, as well as the blood loss that comes as a result of whenever the two of them intertwine. Though the contact of his fangs has not been any less painful, Pink admits to some beautiful irony in becoming _used_ to the motion, enough that her skin crawls in anticipation whenever Red is near, enough that she stares at his lips (or wherever his lips would be behind that helmet of his) for moments longer than is necessary, or normal.

Every day, The Skeld and its crew members travel through deep and treacherous space.

And every day, Pink has the comfort in knowing that even if she is lost in the middle of the unknown abyss, she has Red by her side all the while.

Then she thinks to herself, maybe things aren't so bad after all.

Just maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time: orange!
> 
> new team profiles:  
>  **RED:** Real name is [REDACTED]. 21 years old. Originally from Earth. Pronouns are he/him/his and he is pansexual. History is [REDACTED] and he appears to be using his new position in MIRA as a means of starting over. Physical characteristics include somewhat short, dark hair, dark brown eyes, and light skin erring on the side of pale. He stands at 5'10" and weighs an estimated 165 lbs. His specialty is in medicine, and he is the team's unofficial medic.  
>  **PINK:** Real name is Rose DeLyle. 19 years old. Originally from Earth. Pronouns are she/her/hers and she is bisexual. She comes from a financially poor family and has signed on with MIRA in hopes of reverting her monetary situation. Physical characters include medium-length blonde hair worn in messy waves, bright hazel eyes, and darker, tanner skin that looks akin to the glow of a setting sun. She stands at 5'5" (on a good day) and weighs an estimated 150 lbs. She has no working experience to speak of, and is the team's all-rounder in terms of skill.


	2. orange

**THE SKELD**

Orange thinks his crew is weird. Granted, any person that willingly signs up with the low employee return rate company MIRA has to be weird. Or desperate. Or batshit crazy out of their minds. After all, the impostor phenomena is too scary to be ignored.

So why does everyone pretend to ignore it? Orange knows: he knows the flickering lights aboard The Skeld are too sketchy to be accidental, just as he knows the vents groan and heave too much to be normal. Before The Skeld left on its voyage, he looked up an article about another ship, Remembrance, and how its entire team was wiped out because the impostors killed the lights and traveled through the vents. Every time Orange crosses the threshold into Electrical or Storage, he feels a pit of dread sink into his stomach.

It happened to the folks on Remembrance. It could happen to the crew on The Skeld, too.

Even though all his fellow crewmates are accounted for each morning, Orange isn't relieved in the slightest. If anything, the idea of an impostor grows stronger every day, and Orange is sure that whatever sadistic motherfucker is hiding in human skin likes playing the long game. Likes teasing them. They're gonna drag it out, for sure, and Orange is ready to drop ship at the first sight of danger.

He is one of the crew's best mechanics, after all, and so he knows how to operate the emergency exit pods, as well as the ship's latches. Protocol states that any crewmate branded as an impostor should be ejected immediately, and Orange has his finger on the proverbial trigger. All he needs is a reason to shoot.

The reason comes several months into The Skeld's voyage, when one morning, Orange decides to bite the bullet and face his tasks in Electrical head on. Purple had offered to accompany him, but Orange declined. Even if Purple is one of the crew's most trustworthy members, Orange doesn't want to misplace his faith in anyone. He's glad for the stupid helmets, because otherwise he would've seen Purple's pained expression for everything it was.

For everything it has yet to be.

As Orange makes his way into Electrical, he immediately spots a trail of blood, leading from the front electric panel to the back, curving all the way around the large wall situated in the middle of the room. Whoever designed The Skeld was clearly a lover of murder mysteries, and Orange couldn't fight the feeling that he had just walked himself into a life-or-death situation.

Against his better judgement, he steps forward, carefully avoiding the blood splatter on the floor. It's strange to think that in moments like these, his blood runs cold and his hands feel steady, when he's been hotheaded and nervous any other time in his life. He runs through the emergency procedures in his head ( _Pull the lever or press the button pull the lever or press the button pull the lever or_ —) and calms his uneven breath. As much as he hates what he is about to do, it might be necessary given the blood. Given the horror.

Given the sight of Pink, slumped against one of the walls, eyes open but glossed over as she breathes shallowly. Then, there is Red, hovering over her, kneeling so they are eye-level. His eyes look slightly brighter than usual, and it isn't until Orange sees his face that he realizes neither of them are wearing their suit-issued helmets. Instead, their bodies are vulnerable to The Skeld's inner workings, skin and blood exposed for all the world to see.

And that's when Orange realizes that Pink is bleeding from her neck—the blood dripping between her and Red's _mouth,_ as Red's crouched position looks more and more animalistic with time—to the point where a trail forms between her and the the electrical panel behind the wall. To the point where Orange puts two and two together, and comes up with something worse than four.

Five seconds pass before he screams, " _Murderer! Impostor! Holy shit, someone come help_ —"

Pink winces at the sudden spike in volume, to which Orange feels slightly bad for, since she is already hanging on the edge of life and doesn't need to be inconvenienced further in death. Red, for some reason, looks terrified, as if he hadn't been the one to do this to her in the first place. He springs up, and at full height he easily towers over Orange. His red spacesuit is made darker by the shades of Pink he has on him, and Orange shivers. Had he made it just in time? Did he just prevent something horrible from happening?

Or did he make a fatal mistake, and is now going to be the second victim of Red's in a single moment?

"Someone!" Orange screams again. He turns around, bolting for the door. "Someone help—"

" _Don't move,"_ Red hisses.

So he doesn't. Orange freezes up at his admonishment, hand hovering in mid-air. His eyes can still move, and he watches in horror as the door to Electrical slams shut. _Why can't I move?_ he thinks. _What the hell kind of monster is Red? Pink, hang in there. If I can just_ —

"I'll let you move if you promise to listen to me first," Red says. The anger that had lived in his voice seems to have died out, and Orange once again hears the cadence of what was once a friend. Maybe. "Okay? Orange?"

"What the fuck," Orange mutters. "Do you mean you'll _let_ me move? What _are_ you? Why can't I—"

"Orange. The promise?"

"You're insane if you think I'm gonna listen to anything you say. You nearly killed Pink and now you wanna kill me too! You're an impostor and I—"

"I'm not an impostor." Red sounds genuinely hurt, and Orange feels more confused than he already is. "Come on, I want you to listen to me of your own accord."

The unspoken meaning of _I don't want to force you_ comes across loud and clear. Orange swallows his hesitation (and maybe his pride) before he says something stupid. "Fine," he says anyway. "Fine, fine, fine. Just stop this already! And you have to swear not to hurt me!"

"I'd never hurt you," Red insists. "But alright. You can move now."

Instantly, Orange's body falls back into gravity, freed from whatever mental prison it had been held in. He stumbles over himself, body slamming into the closed door. "Ow," he mumbles while righting himself. "How did that happen, and—and why did—"

"Orange, can you look at me?"

He turns slowly, hesitantly. Red is a lot closer to him than he first realized, and at this distance (or lackthereof), he starts making out the smaller details. Like, without his helmet on, Red's a looker. Those dark eyes (with a hint of actual _red_ in them? Or is Orange hallucinating?) with long lashes, his dark hair that is kind of short but kind of not but a little messy but sort of neat but everything attractive all at once, and his lips, which seemed a little dry but as Pink's blood dries on their surface, they look _red_ and _full._

Orange feels blush creep up from the base of his neck as he tries to dispel these unwanted thoughts. "I am _not_ taking my helmet off."

"You don't have to." Red smiles softly, which isn't helping Orange's case against him. "Just listen."

"...I'll take it off." Orange suddenly decides, removing his helmet before Red has a chance to protest. "I'm probably dead already and don't even know it, so who cares if my helmet is gone, too?"

Red stares at Orange for a good, hard moment. It's not to take in his revealed appearance (brown hair that reaches the base of his neck, bright brown upturned eyes, tanned skin, a deep frown that has his pink lips pulled into scowling angles) as much as it to take in _him,_ for all Orange is, and how despite his initial refusal, he agrees to play Red's game. It took a little bit of vampiric influence to calm him down, but based on how easily he agreed afterward, Red feels like he might have been too cruel in using his power just then.

Another moment of silence passes as Orange waits for an answer.

Red continues. "I wish I could convince you that you're still alive."

"Me too."

"Pink is."

Orange blinks, then says: "What?"

"Pink is alive."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"I'll be the judge of that."

Red nods, and extends his hand. Orange stares at it wide-eyed, before he realizes what Red means to do. And if you asked him what his future looked like, "holding hands with a possible impostor" wouldn't be on his list of predictions.

Yet it happened. And it _happens,_ as Orange gently reaches out, and places one gloved hand over the other. He cannot feel Red's skin or his pulse through his suit, but a strange warmth permeates the material, and between the red and orange layers of stainless steel silicone, Orange understands that what he feels _is_ Red. Somehow, Red holds his hand through their suits, eliminating any fear and distance that might have existed between them.

It's much more closer and intimate than anything Orange has done in his entire life. After all, he is his father's son, and human connection has never been one of his strong suits. He comes off as noncommittal and joking half the time, but the truth of his personality is what he displays to Red: neurosis, fear, anxiety, no-nonsense whatsoever. Orange is not good when it comes to other people, and even worse when it comes to impostors.

Red seems to be a mixture of both, so he cannot fathom how it is he got to this point, allowing himself to be handheld to the back of Electrical to view a sight that will surely haunt his dreams for the next two months. Even so, it happens, and Orange keeps his head low, eyes fixated to the drying trail of blood below his feet.

As they turn the corner, they see Pink. She is still slumped against the wall, groaning slightly. She looks better than she did before, as if some of her energy has returned to her already. Give her a few more minutes, and she'll be energized enough to shout at Red and Orange like she usually does.

That brings no comfort to him like Red promised it would, however. Orange freezes up, and Red's voice feels like fire near him. "I'm not sure if you'll believe me, but I never tried to kill or hurt Pink."

"Then what did you do?" Orange murmurs.

"I bit her," Red admits. He doesn't sound guilty as much as he should have. Is it a common occurrence between the two of them, or what? "I'm a vampire, Orange."

"A vampire?" The word feels foreign on his tongue. Then again, his area of expertise is rather narrow, as he'd been tinkering with mechanisms his whole childhood. He doesn't know much outside of wires or adaptors, try as he might. "So...what? You just drink blood for fun?"

"I need it to live. If I don't have it often enough I might—" he gulps— "become a _real_ impostor, y'know?"

Orange flinches. He wishes he could leave right now, but Red's hand on his own weighs heavy. He can't find the strength within himself to refuse, let alone resist. "So you need it to live. Do you have to be so... _messy_ about it?"

"That's what _I_ said," Pink groans from her place on the floor. Her tone isn't scathing enough to be typical, but Orange appreciates the attempt at lightening the mood. "Red, you messed up big time..."

"I know, I said I was sorry!" He drags Orange forward a bit. "I'll clean it up, so you two don't worry about that. But it's like I told you, Orange. She's alive. I'd never—I would never hurt someone here, not seriously. I swear my life on it."

"Your life, huh?" Orange scoffs, and gently pries his hand away from Red. "Okay, fine. I dunno if it's because you're a vampire or a demon or whatever, but I believe you. Just give me a minute to process this shit."

"I need to go lie down," Pink complains. She struggles to stand to her feet, and Orange instinctively runs to her side, assisting her. "Thanks," she mutters. "Orange...can you help me back to my room?"

The dorms for the crewmates are past the cafeteria, and though it's a bit of a walk from their place in Electrical, Orange agrees to do it. "Just lean on me, okay?" _I hope the others don't see this,_ he thinks but doesn't say.

Pink nods, and stands awry, doing her best to prevent herself from leaning all the way over. Orange helps her, and they hobble towards the dorms together. They talk about Red ("How long have you known?" Orange asks. "Long enough," Pink replies. The silence says the rest for them.)

Once she's safe and sound, Orange leaves her there, and returns to the scene of the crime.

Returns to the streaks of blood being wiped away. Red glances up, afraid, but relaxes when he sees that it's Orange. "What are you doing here?" he asks. "I was so scared you were someone else for a moment. Is Pink alright?"

"She's fine," Orange grumbles. "I let her pass out in her room. I came here to see you."

"Oh." Red fidgets with the cleaning cloth, and Orange tries not to stare at the errant blood smears on the white-threaded surface. "What is it?"

"I just wanted to make sure that this was real." He doesn't elaborate on what _this_ is, but the meaning goes unsaid. "And that I didn't hallucinate it, or something."

"It's real," Red whispers. "Yeah, it's real. I'm sorry, Orange, I shouldn't have—"

"Listen, and don't talk." It's Orange's turn to be demanding, and it might be the last time he demands something as strongly as this. "I don't want to hear it, see it, or think about it again. You and your vampirism or whatever. If it's a weird sex thing—"

"Whoa, it is _not_ a weird sex thing!"

" _I'll_ be the judge of that," Orange snaps. He instantly regrets it, because Red winces from the harshness of his words, as if he wasn't the literal bloodsucker in this situation. That kind of guilt is annoying but effective, all the same. "I don't want to know about it ever again."

"I promise." Red sounds serious, too, and Orange is glad that he seems to understand where's he coming from. "I swear, I won't ever let it be seen by anyone else, let alone you. I don't—I never wanted this to happen. Not if I could help it."

"Good."

"I-Is that all?" Despite being so controlling earlier, Red seems to fall back into his more subtle ways. His _kinder_ ways, his softer ways, and if it weren't for the display earlier, Orange could hardly believe the young man standing before him is some sort of human monster. The strange red hue to his eyes has disappeared, as well. "Because I really should clean this up—I think Lime has stuff to do in Electrical today, or something."

"One more thing," Orange says. "For good measure."

"Sure, anything." Red nods. "What is it?"

And Red expects a lot of things, but what he does _not_ expect is for the doors to shut on their own (Orange jumps at the noise, too—the damn faulty wiring in here!), or for Orange himself to take a step closer to the vampire—the very thing he seems to detest.

And least of all that Red expects is Orange, breathless and serious, craning his neck to look up at him and say, "Bite me."

* * *

_What? What? WHAT?_

Red cannot compute. He simply cannot understand the two simple words that have left Orange's mouth, or the look of vulnerability in Orange's eyes as he said them.

He checks himself once, twice, then thrice in a row. He hasn't used his vampiric influence at all! Or is Orange somehow still charmed from the incident that happened earlier? Did Pink say something to him as they walked towards the dorms?

Is _Red_ the one dreaming, now? "What did you just say?"

"You heard me," Orange scoffs. He is usually a much better joker than this, though Red suspects that it's his own mistake that caused him to be so on edge to start with. "Bite me."

"But _why?_ You just said that you don't want anything to do with—"

"Your vampirism, yes."

"So why are you asking me to bite you?"

"The same reason. I don't want to deal with it later, and I don't want the curiosity to make me think twice. So, if I get it out of the way now, I can leave it alone for good." Orange's face twists into something accusatory. "Oh, you sick fuck, I'm not into you like that so you better wipe that goddamned smirk off your face."

"I'm not smirking!" Red insists, which is true, because if anything, he looks rightfully horrified at Orange's suggestion.

But even more so at his own lack of disagreement. The truth is that even though he got messy with Pink, they were just playing around ( _flirting,_ a braver soul would say, but like hell Red would admit to feeling something romantic towards Pink), and he wasn't quite quenched of his thirst yet. He had been ready to grin and bear it, or sneak some blood from the medbay reserves, but Orange had a different course of action in mind.

And Red hates that the beast in him wants this, too. He hates that he can't stop himself from staring at Orange's neck, exposed for all the world to see. Orange is shorter than Red is, but he's much thinner, too, and it's easy to see empty space in the suit where his body can't fill, even though the suit is technically tailored to him by MIRA-issued standards. "Seriously, though, are you sure about this? I-I don't want you to hate me."

"I'll hate you if you bite me or someone else without permission," Orange reminds. "Or worse, that you talk casually about...whatever it is you have around me. This is the last time we talk about this kind of thing, do you understand? I don't want to hear this when we go to Polus, HQ, or anywhere at all. This secret of yours will die with me, and my secret-keeping ends here."

"Orange—"

"Do you get it, Red?"

"I get it," Red mutters. "I can't say I agree with your thoughts, but...I can respect them, at least."

Orange smiles softly. "Good. Now, let's hurry up and get this over with before someone else becomes an unfortunate witness."

"Again, I'm really sorry about that, and the whole manipulation thing—"

" _Red,"_ Orange groans. "Hurry up."

"Alright."

So he does. In fact, he wastes no time, and steps forward with such quickness, Orange has to suppress a yelp from escaping his lips. His breath is all but stolen as Red pins him up against the wall (the flat one, thankfully, and _not_ the one with all the godforsaken knobs and switches on it), hands grasping each shoulder with unmet force.

Suddenly, the kindness in Red's eyes fade away, replaced by a manic hunger that shines and scintillates.

 _Like stars,_ Orange distantly thinks. If he's made a mistake, he chooses to stand by it, and says nothing as Red's mouth gets closer and closer to his skin. There is a bit of a height difference between the two of them—Red is taller than Orange could ever hope to be. So when he dips his head low, trying to fit his mouth in the space between skin and air, Orange resists the urge to sigh, and suppresses the deafening heartbeat resounding through his chest.

He fails on both accounts as Red's fangs sink deep into his neck, eliciting a strangled sigh from his throat. It hurts much more than Orange expects it to—needle-like pain around the broken skin, burning sensation bubbling beneath the surface. It takes every inch of his willpower to _not_ fight back, to kick and scream against Red's animalistic thirst, but rather to accept it for what it is, in the hopes that he never has to experience it again.

"A-Ah, Red—" His voice squeaks and breaks in places he hadn't expected. "R-Red, wait—" He doesn't like the vulnerability in his tone, or the desire underlying in his soul. Almost like some twisted part of him wanted this— _wants_ this.

He feels as electricity through his own veins, his thoughts taking a turn for the worst. Instead of being scared or angry, Orange is _calm_ and _relaxed_ , delighted, even, that bit by painful bit he is fading away. That his body and mind are torn asunder, that he is rendered helpless except for the vampire in front of him. And he'd let this vampire go to such lengths anytime, really! He can drink to his heart's desire, until all of Orange's blood is drained dry, until Red completely dominates him, until he reduces him down to blood and ashes and sparks...

His hands, which were once gripping tightly to Red's body for anchorage, relent, and his fingers uncurl one by one as he starts to lose feeling in them. His neck stings with a new sensation—a frightened _gasp_ as Red removes his mouth from him, dripping wet and red from his heinous act. So much for cleaning up. "Oh-Oh no, Orange! I'm so sorry, I forgot, I'm sorry—"

"You're such a goddamned idiot," he mumbles, the ecstasy of blood loss wearing off. His eyes are closed, and he needs to lean against the wall or Red—not both, as he lacks the wherewithal to hold himself upright. Thankfully, Red's arms are strong and warm against him as he slumps over. "N-Never again. This one time only. Do you understand, Red? I don't want this—not again."

"I promise, I swear, that this will never happen again," Red whispers, and suddenly, everything is light. Orange can't feel the floors or the wires or the walls or anything that makes Electrical, well, Electrical. He can only feel Red, his warmth, and his heartbeat as they begin to move in tandem. "I'll take care of you, I promise."

He wants to say a myriad of things to Red, some twisted mixture of apology (what does he have to apologize for, he wonders? For being weak-willed and possibly anemic? Or for being a pushover and allowing the vampire to get what he wants even if he doesn't know if he truly wants it?) and scolding, but he only manages to eke out the latter. "You had fucking better," he hisses. "Or I'll never forgive you."

Then he blacks out, and the rest is left to Red.

As it always is.

* * *

They keep their promise to each other. Red never mentions blood-drinking or any of his vampiric traits again, and Orange pretends like that one day in Electrical never even happened. He can't prevent himself from acting awkward around Red (and by extension, Pink) at times, but he does his best to be civil. Orange jokes around like usual and no one thinks twice that anything strange happened between him and Red.

Unfortunately, Orange broke his own promise to himself—the one where he stated he would never get involved with Red's vampirism again. The truth is uglier than that, and much more bloody. The truth is, Orange hasn't found anything that makes his heart race as fast, or his head feel as light, as it does when Red bites him. The truth is, he hasn't forgotten a single detail of that day, from Red's strange manipulation tactics to Red's razor-sharp fangs. The truth is, sometimes he thinks about Red, and wonders if there are more people like him, who drink blood, or if there are any people like Orange _himself,_ who like to be _drank from._

The truth is never what it seems, but one thing is for sure.

Whenever Red bites Orange (which is frequent, often, but neater than last time, and more careful), neither of them say a word, and instead their quiet gasps and noises say everything _for_ them, all those things they are too scared to admit.

And it's better this way, Orange thinks. It really is.

Turns out he's a weirdo, through and through—a perfect fit to the rest of The Skeld's motley crew.

As if it were meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time: cyan!
> 
> new team profile:  
>  **ORANGE:** Real name is Meiren Eyers. 23 years old. Originally from Mars: Earth Colony I. Pronouns are he/him/he and is bisexual. He is the son of a genius mechanic and inventor, and so he has signed up with MIRA as per his guardians' recommendations. Physical characteristics include brown hair that is shorter in the front, longer in the back (reaches the base of his neck in the back), bright brown upturned eyes, and tanned skin. He stands at 5'6" and weighs 139 lbs. He is a specialized mechanic with an interest in electrical engineering.


	3. cyan

**THE SKELD**

"There's something fishy about Red," Cyan says one day. He and Purple are sitting in communications together, waiting for the download to finish. Purple looks up from their place at the computer desk, raising a brow in disbelief. Cyan goes on to say, "No, scratch that, there's something _really wrong_ with Red."

"What makes you say that?" Purple asks. Their dark eyes shine curiously, making Cyan feel at ease that at least someone on this godforsaken ship has the same sensibility as him. "Red seems nice to me—nothing out of the ordinary."

"That's the thing," Cyan insists. "He's _too_ nice."

"Oh." Purple scratches at their head, looking away from Cyan's invasive gaze. "Are you saying he's an impostor, or somethin'?"

"I'm saying I wouldn't be surprised if he is." Cyan checks the download again: 83%. He had taken off his helmet for some 'fresh air' earlier, prompting Purple to do the same. Now that his task is almost over, he finds the need to put the helmet back on (to replace the barrier he knowingly took down himself), and get back to business. With a _snap,_ the helmet locks into place, and Cyan sighs deeply. "I'm gonna find out the truth about him. He's hiding something, I just know it."

Purple, now with their helmet back on, too, scratches at the top of their head. "Well, if you say so."

 _100%, download complete,_ Cyan's screen reads. He exits out of the dialog box and smiles to himself. "Oh Purple," he hums. "I _know_ so."

* * *

Cyan isn't an idiot. He knows a thorough investigation of another person requires patience, subtlety, and divergence. He is one of the crew's best communication members, after all, so he understands people on a deeper level than most would assume. He knows the processes that are necessary to file complaints, execute orders, and put things in their proper place.

He knows that despite his suspicions, he cannot simply walk up to Red and accuse him of anything, much less being a monster in human skin. There's this one story about another crew that, while at MIRA HQ, started turning on each other one by one, ejecting their members out of the sky and hurtling them towards the planet below. In the end, everyone _except_ the impostors had died, and it was all because of their ill judgement.

He swears to not make the same mistakes they did. For starters, he won't even _approach_ Red at first, instead opting to watch him from a distance. If that isn't enough on its own, then he'll pick and choose strategic moments to appear in Red's line of sight, being careful not to make the other too wary of his intentions.

Cyan, communications expert that he is, takes a sneak peak at Red's itinerary every day, and adjusts his _own_ schedule so certain tasks overlap each other, or certain lunch breaks run around the same time.

The first time he observes Red up close is in the cafeteria during lunch. Pink happens to be there, as well, and Cyan doesn't mind Pink—she's one of the more tolerable members aboard The Skeld, even if she complains about damn near everything when given the chance. But she reminds Cyan of a friend back at home, so he has a soft spot for her.

...And so does _Red,_ apparently. The two of them must not realize that Cyan is in the farthest end of the same room, leaned against one of the vending machines, because they huddle closer together than is necessary. Their helmets are off (which, at the moment, doesn't strike Cyan as weird, because how else are they supposed to eat? Or are they supposed to shove the food onto the glass surface of their helmet like fucking infants?) and their voices are hushed, the two of them talking about something that Cyan can never hope to know.

With Red's face buried in the crook of Pink's neck, Pink eliciting a happy sigh as she closes her eyes against him.

Cyan wants to say something, but finds himself conflicted between ruining the moment and becoming an unfortunate witness to it, all the same.

He settles for throwing an empty soda can in their direction. "Hey!" he shouts in a teasing voice. "Get a room!"

Pink yelps, the noise caught in her throat as she jumps up from her seat, face flushed from a mixture of embarrassment and romance. Red appears the same, with gloved hands covering his mouth, just _so_ surprised that anyone else would be in the cafeteria, despite it being such a common meeting place for literally every other member on the ship.

How amusing.

"Cyan," Pink snaps. "You should've said something! Instead of just standing there like a creep!"

"And _you_ should have been more aware of your surroundings!" Cyan bites back, words aimed more at Red than Pink. "Sorry, can't a guy drink some soda without his teammates eating each other's faces off in the meanwhile?"

"We were _not_ —"

"Sorry," Red murmurs. His hand is still over his mouth, fingers slightly trembling. Cyan raises a brow at this display. "Uh, I'll just get going—"

"What's the rush?" Cyan prods. He takes a step forward, icy blue eyes ever locked on Red's visage. What is he hiding his face for? "Let's all just sit down and eat like normal people. You guys can do whatever you want in your own time."

Pink goes silent as she looks to Red for guidance. Red, however, seems fixated on covering his mouth, body shaking slightly at the sight of Cyan. Is he shocked to be caught in the act of loving someone else? Or is it something more than that?

Before Cyan can say anything else, Red turns around and makes a break for the door.

"Red!" Pink cries out. "Wait just a minute—" She chases after him, and normally, Cyan would be inclined to do the same, but instead he lets them disappear beyond the cafeteria doors, helmets off and footsteps frenzied.

Red doesn't realize this, but as he ran away from the cafeteria, Cyan was able to see his mouth for a split second in time—long enough to identify his quivering lips and trembling skin, long enough to see the red stains that gathered there, messing him up in the most gruesome way possible.

Cyan saw _Pink's_ blood on _Red's_ face, and that says more about Red than anything else ever will.

Cyan smiles. The game is afoot.

* * *

Old theory: Red was hiding something—most likely a murderous intent to kill everyone on board—and his kind persona served as a disguise for the true monster underneath.

Current theory: Red was a bloodsucking monster to some degree, and enacted a weird pact and/or agreement with Pink, on the grounds that she hide his secret all the while.

Newest addendum to Cyan's current theory: Pink wasn't the only person aboard The Skeld who was aware of Red's nature.

There has to be more people in on the secret.

Cyan begins to suspect everyone that Red comes in contact with. Well, not everyone, actually. White, the team's leader, is too pristine and regal for something as lowly as blood sharing. (Blood drinking? Blood splitting? What the fuck _is_ Red, anyway? Cyan will have to research this later.) And even if that's not the case, she's honest enough with Cyan that if she were involved in some secret cult or something, she'd tell him right away.

Black also seems uninvolved, only because she's completely outlandish and too much of a bimbo to seriously participate in whatever goddamned circus they were in the middle of. Though maybe her dimwitted nature is fake, too, like how Red's apparent kindness and _oh no, please don't hurt me, I'm just a soft, sweet boy_ attitude is fabricated as hell.

Purple _looks_ innocent at first, but Cyan thinks it's strange that they offer no real opinion on Red when asked. "Red and Pink have been getting close, don't you think?" Cyan suggests when the two of them are working together in Comms again. "Have you noticed?"

Purple's body language doesn't change in the least, but Cyan catches onto the way their eyes change—dark irises hardening in thought, eyebrows slightly downturned. _Oh?_ "Not really," they reply. "I haven't been around either of them that much lately.

Which is a blatant _lie,_ and an obvious one, too, since everyone knows that Cyan is in charge of managing their tasks lists throughout the days. Yesterday, Purple and Pink worked in oxygen together, and today, Red and Purple were supposed to tag-team with each other in the reactor. Did they lie on purpose just now, or was this some sort of advanced strategy on their end?

What's _their_ gain, in all this madness?

Cyan has no clue how Purple would benefit from lying, so he lets the lie unfurl off his shoulders, shrugging as if uninterested. "Just curious," he says. "So, about those downloads..."

Worse than Purple is Orange. Orange is a curious person, Cyan thinks, because he acts like he doesn't take anything seriously, but put him in front of a machine and he gets more excited than a kid with a bag full of Halloween candy. Other times, he will be strangely pessimistic, asking people about their knowledge of impostors, or death, then quickly diffusing the anxious tension with some bad joke.

Cyan and Orange are a bit similar in that regard, but Cyan knows better.

He knows that sometimes, Orange looks over his shoulder, as if something might be there, or mutters to himself about some fear that has yet to happen. He knows that sometimes, Orange looks to Red longingly, as if he wants something from him—as if he wants in on that pseudo-kinky-romantic-weird-alien relationship that Pink and Red share together, in that secret-but-not-so-secret way of theirs.

He understands that in order to get to Red, he has to go through Orange, minor roadblock that he is. So Cyan initiates conversation first. "Red's kind of weird, don't you think?" Presently, the two of them are in Storage, reorganizing the stacked boxes (which, Cyan sometimes wonders why they have so many of them to begin with). Their helmets are on, but Cyan can imagine Orange's shocked face from beyond the glass.

Orange's voice betrays him, too—shaky and uncertain. "U-Uh, what do you mean by that?"

"I mean—"

"Because _everyone_ in the Skeldon Crew is weird."

"...The _what?"_ Cyan pauses mid-step, box hanging loosely in his hands, staring at Orange with as much incredulity as possible. "What did you call us?"

"The Skeldon Crew," Orange reiterates in a haughty voice. "Get it? Like _Skeleton Crew_ —"

"Jesus Christ, Orange," Cyan groans. "That was awful."

"I'm hoping it catches on, actually. It's kind of cute. Purple made an offhand suggestion about how we all need a team name, and it came to me like a vision. I'm gonna ask White to make it official."

"God, no."

"God _yes."_

" _Orange,"_ Cyan groans, exasperated.

"Yes, Cyan?" Orange practically sings, the smug bastard.

"You didn't answer my question."

The room goes quiet.

Cyan grins widely to himself. _Gotcha._

Orange gulps audibly. "W-What did you ask me, again?"

"I asked if you thought something was up with Red."

"Oh, right. Well, no, not really? I mean, I'm kind of friends with Red but he's just so shy, y'know? He's not bad, though. He's really nice."

"Nice? That's all?" Cyan realizes that with the way Orange is acting, he could get a lot of valuable information about Red out of him. He just has to play his cards right. "I mean, he's more than just _nice,_ isn't he?"

"H-Huh? What are you saying?"

"Have you seen him with his helmet off? He's the prettiest motherfucker _I've_ ever laid eyes on."

"C-Cyan! You can't just say things like that!" Orange shoves him in a way that is meant to be playful, but combined with his nervous voice and stuttering hand, it comes off as fearful more than anything. "I mean that's—that's kind of weird, isn't it? And him and Pink are definitely a thing, so like—"

"They are?" Cyan's voice is too innocent to be true, but he couldn't care less right now. "Wait, that doesn't make sense, though. They just hang out a lot."

"Are you blind?" Orange huffs. "They're clearly into each other."

"Well, if Red is into anyone, maybe it's Purple—" Orange winces as he says this, which makes Cyan wonder if Purple was involved in this somehow— "or maybe even _you."_

Silence. Absolute silence.

Cyan is delighted with himself.

Orange musters a reply. "Me? Are you kidding? Yeah, I'm closer with the guy than I used to be, but we're not—it's not like _that."_

"You sure? Because a little birdie tells me that you and Red hang out in Electrical together. A lot." Cyan tilts his head. "Which is weird, because last I checked your guys' schedules, you don't really have the same tasks when that happens."

"Cyan—"

"Orange, you can be honest with me, y'know. I'm not like Black or Pink or even Lime, sometimes. Your secret is safe with me."

"There is _no_ secret," Orange hisses. "So just leave me alone, already." Orange stomps out of Storage, and while Cyan should count that as a defeat, everything in Orange's voice reassures him that it's a victory.

The truth is so close, he can almost _taste_ it.

Sweet as sugar.

* * *

"Red," Cyan finally asks him one day. He has shadowed him for weeks, now—checking up on the Skeldon Crew's would-be medic, if he were prideful enough to claim that title for himself. "I know your secret."

He doesn't know what to expect from the man, the myth, the legend himself. Anyone else would freeze up at the accusation, unsure of how to respond to such strong words. Other people would go fiery, instead—defensive and loud in a last-ditch effort to preserve themselves as best they can.

Red doesn't do anything of the sort. At this moment in time, Red has his helmet off, an array of medbay salves and serums laid out before him. Cyan doesn't know shit about medicine, so he's not sure if being exposed to chemicals like that is a health hazard or not.

Though, for a monster, getting sick is the least of Red's worries.

No, Red has no worries at all as he turns around to face Cyan, who—at this moment in time— _also_ has his helmet off, revealing his face to Red for the first time since their awkward encounter in the cafeteria. Unlike Red, Cyan's hair is distinctly blonde, quite short, with icy blue eyes to match in brightness. They are almost the exact same height, but Cyan looks shorter just because he is thinner, lankier, and wiry in ways that Red could never be. By stepping closer to him, by keeping dark eyes locked on bright, Cyan destroys the very barriers that he himself constructed carefully over the past few weeks.

Ready to face the monster head-on.

Said monster stares at him, _hard_ , unblinking and unafraid of the conflict that brews between them.

Unfazed by the storm yet to come.

"What are you talking about?" Red asks in a voice quieter than either of them would expect. There is no fear, sadness, or worry in his voice. Just cool, calm, collectedness. Maybe their fearless leader is making a good impression on Red, human impostor that he is.

Cyan takes it all in stride. "You think I'm blind? That I don't see you running off in dark corners with Pink and Orange and Purple when no one else is looking?"

"Maybe you're seeing things," Red offers. "It happens from time to time. You know how the oxygen is on The Skeld."

"Fair enough," Cyan agrees. "But that's not the case, is it? Just how long have you been doing this?"

Red looks genuinely shocked. _Liar._ "Doing what?"

Oh, Cyan _has_ to laugh at this one. "Feeding off of us, of course!"

"Feeding—"

"You _fucking_ leech!" Cyan doesn't waste any more time. He looks weak compared to Red, but he uses that comparison to his advantage, taking the other by surprise as he shoves him against the nearest wall, muffling his scream with his forearm—the limb jammed against Red's mouth and teeth, silencing him in a singular movement.

The further he presses his arm into him, the more he can feel his _teeth,_ sharp and exposed, pressing against the material of his suit.

Cyan grins, wolfish and bright. "I _knew_ it. I knew your whole 'sweet and pure' thing was just an act. You little bastard!" If he were an impostor, he would've brought a gun or a knife to seal the deal, but killing Red isn't the solution.

Voting him out the ship and sending his ass to space might be.

"Mmph!" Red snaps at him, eyes glimmering with something _dark_ and _bloody_ —brown hues shifting into a feral shade of crimson. His entire stance changes just then: shoulders hunched in, fingers clenched into claws around Cyan's arm, dark brows knitted into a furious angle.

Then, with unexpected force, Red pushes Cyan off, shoving him with as much nonlethal force as possible. Cyan stumbles back, breathing shallowly as the adrenaline of excitement runs through him now, electricity in lieu of blood. Red gasps for air as his mouth is no longer being muffled by Cyan's forearm, yet in doing so he reveals his pearl-white fangs, sharp and dangerous for all the world to see.

 _A vampire,_ in the flesh. Cyan almost wants to cheer himself on for his hunch being correct. Instead, he watches with muted, twisted interest as Red wipes at his mouth, a smear of blood staining the furthest corner of his lips.

Wait, _blood_ _?_ How is Red bleeding? Cyan hadn't done anything to hurt him, so how? Unless—

"Shit!" Cyan stumbles backward, eyes drawn towards the dark stain on his own forearm. "You actually _bit_ me?"

The sleeve of his neon-bright, MIRA-issued spacesuit is torn, and past the ripped material, two fang-shaped wounds stand out against his pale skin, drops of dark red blood spilling out at a fascinatingly slow rate.

Cyan's heart stops in his throat, tears dotting the edge of his eyes at the realization that Red managed to pierce his skin through layers and layers of nylon. Through his _favorite sweater,_ no less, the teal-blue number his aunt knitted him for his nineteenth birthday! The one that perfectly matched his eyes!

It's a ridiculous thing to be fixated on, but Cyan's typically well-calculated thoughts appear to spiral away from him now, a haze of worry and vulnerability coming over him, instead—breath stalling in his lungs, eyes widening in understanding that, for all his carefully constructed plans, he's come up short when it really matters.

Red smiles, and Cyan feels the end is near.

"Yeah." Red's voice comes to a deadly lull near Cyan's ears. "Yeah, I bit you. What're you gonna do about it?"

"Fuck you," Cyan spits. He narrows his eyes, icy blue irises scintillating like knives. "You're worse than an impostor. You're a _parasite_ and you've been feeding off us this whole time! Fuck you and everything you stand for. You're gonna die, you—"

"Death?" Red's voice comes to a near whisper, and the tables turn instantly. Now, _Cyan_ is the one against the wall, Red's strength overpowering him, Red's presence drowning everything else out. He wants to raise a hand against him—slap the shit out of him, or _something_ —but Red stills Cyan's arm with an elegant touch, a wave of ice cold submission crashing over him. "And what would someone like you know about _death?"_

 _Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump..._ the sound of his heartbeat, his _life_ beat, echoes through him now. No, he doesn't know anything about death, not really. Death is for the unlucky crewmates, the ones that end up on ships with aliens stuffed in a human suit, legs and teeth and eyes where a heart should be. Death is for the fools, who blindly put their trust into other people, unaware that each handshake they secure is another target on their back. Death is for the clueless humans on Earth, Mars, the Moon, and any other colony there is, those that will never know the horrors of being plunged into deep space with nothing but a dozen strangers to support you.

Death is a lot of things, but the more Cyan thinks about it, the more he has to concede to Red: he doesn't know a _damn_ thing about dying.

Until now, that is.

"I-I—"

Red grabs Cyan's face with one hand, fingers cupping his chin and his cheek in one graceful swoop, tilting his head just slightly upward so their eyes meet.

Cyan sneers, the expression getting lost in the glimmer of Red's eyes—solid and dark. Red evaluates him, carefully, then grinning as if he likes what he sees.

Maybe he _does_ like Cyan, in some twisted, sadistic way, because after staring him down he says, "I'm not gonna kill you, y'know."

"Right, like how in the hell am I supposed to believe that? You just bit me, you—"

"I'll just make you _wish_ you were dead."

"Wha— _Red!"_ Cyan's voice gets lost in the crown of Red's hair, as Red leans over, tears at the cloth that covers Cyan's neck, and bites _down._ Down, down, down, until his skin _snaps_ deliciously, until the squelching noises of blood and flesh intermingle, horrifying Cyan to the core, delighting Red in a very specific way. He bites down, silencing any complaints, stealing both breath and blood from Cyan, devouring him until there is nothing left.

Cyan, at some point, has no choice but to cling onto Red for dear life, as his own slips away from him, bit-by-painful-bit. His head fills up with nonsense: demonic words tempting him to nothingness, a voice unlike his own promising that getting bitten is a _good_ thing, and that he should be _grateful_ to Red, despite everything. Evil, putrid words overtake his thoughts, mesmerize him, snuffing his flames and turning him to ash.

If this is death, then surely there are worse ways to go out, and far less personal ways, too. Red could've been merciful and shot him down, broke his neck, or even stabbed him, but instead he chose something slow, soft, and _intimate._ He chose something that, blood splatter aside, was quite clean and wholesome. Something that leeched his life gradually, and like a flower slowly dying, Cyan's resistance wilts until he feels it all come away.

He closes his eyes, and holds himself closer to Red, in the hopes that once this is all over, he will at least have the decency of giving him a proper funeral. Of giving the others a chance to mourn what might've been.

Red sighs, content and happy with himself, voice like a butterfly's wings taking off in the distance. "Cyan," he says. Or doesn't say. It's hard to tell at this point. "Cyan."

"No," he mutters, drowsy and drained. "No more. I don't—can't do this no more."

"Cyan—" Is he concerned for his life? Really? Or is Red's voice gaining traction because Cyan is about to die, and the echoes of his heart will haunt him for an eternity to come? "Cyan, are you—"

"Shut up, Red. Shut up and kill me like you mean it."

"..."

When Cyan's world goes dark, so do his thoughts, yet he has a lingering feeling in his chest that Red doesn't mean it at all.

What a shame.

* * *

The next time Cyan wakes up, it's weird: he can't seem to remember falling asleep in his own room, or what he'd been doing the day before. Normally, when he has a headache, it makes his vision strain and his eyes tear up, but instead, his head feels cool and light—like clouds passing through a blue sky.

The rest of the day goes by without incident, until he runs into Red in one of the hallways, eyes widening at the sight of him. It's casual Friday, so that means everyone on the ship is sans spacesuit, wearing their civilian clothing (once the faulty oxygen on The Skeld has been secured for the day, of course!) instead. Which means that Red is revealed in all his wonderous glory, black sweater and slacks and all. Yet when Cyan looks at him, images flash by in his mind, blurry and uncertain but also familiar.

Familiar. Red. Bloody. Warm.

His cheeks darken by the second. " _Red,_ " Cyan hisses. He is wearing his favorite sweater, too—the teal blue number that his aunt knitted him for his nineteenth birthday, with an unknown tear in the forearm area that he has yet to stitch up. Why is his sweater torn, again? He feels like Red has something to do with it. "What the fuck did you do to me?"

Red's eyes go wide, and his voice sounds a tad bit lighter and airier than it usually is. For extra emphasis, he brings his sweater sleeve up to his chin, thoughtful and cute. "I have _no_ idea what you're talking about, Cyan!"

"I know you did something, I just—"

"Can't remember?" Red's serene expression morphs into a smug grin, his hand falling back down to his side. "Good."

" _Red._ What is going on? Why does my head hurt?" His nose scrunches up. "You're an alien, aren't you? You did something to me. Oh my God, did you _probe_ me? You're—"

"I'm harmless, really!" Red sounds too happy about this, but he manages his excitement quite well for someone on the edge of breaking into laughter. "I don't know why you want to convince yourself that I'm evil, or something."

"It's more like, I don't want to be caught off guard when you inevitably kill every single person on this ship." Cyan makes a disgusted face. He takes a step back from Red, for good measure. "How can I even trust you?"

"I'm not sure," Red admits. "But I want you to."

Cyan laughs. "Impossible."

"Well, in that case—" Red steps forward, closing the distance, the difference in their height made more severe by the gleam in Red's eyes, and the hitch in Cyan's throat that suddenly makes him unable to breathe— "I'll keep playing this game with you. Just don't make things boring, okay?"

A chill runs up Cyan's spine. He _thinks_ he knows what Red is referring to, but he just can't be sure. It's on the tip of his tongue, though—so close that he can almost taste it. Bittersweet. "Red—"

"Red!" Pink's shrill voice calls out to him, interrupting Cyan's train of thought. "Where _are_ you?! Do you think I can carry all this shit by myself?"

"Sorry, sorry!" Red shouts down the hallway, smiling to himself as Pink's naive tone carries for miles. "I was just talking with Cyan, I'll be there in a minute."

They don't say anything else to each other, but the way Red sets his hand on Cyan's shoulder—the way his eyes shine at him knowingly, content in secret knowledge that Cyan can't ever hope to understand—makes Cyan's heart skip a beat.

The feeling of Red's warm hand lingering like a ghost on his skin, hours and hours after the fact.

Regardless of what might have happened between them, Cyan is sure of one thing and one thing alone.

He is _so_ fucked.

* * *

"...Aha!" Cyan screams, standing up to his feet, palms slammed into the surface of the table. "Motherfucker, I _remembered!"_

Purple, who had been his lunchtime companion just then, yelps at the sudden outburst, accidentally squeezing the orange juice out of its carton. "Whoa, what's going on? W-What are you yelling about, Cyan?"

Cyan doesn't answer them. Instead, he runs out of the cafeteria at top speed, shouting at the top of his lungs. " _RED!"_ he screeches. " _RED, WHERE ARE YOU, YOU ABSOLUTE PIECE OF_ SHIT!"

Then he's gone faster than Purple can call out to him. _Oh well,_ Purple thinks. _Sounds like Red's problem, again. He sure knows how to stir up trouble, that Red..._

Despite thinking that, Purple goes to the trouble of picking up a napkin, and wiping at the mess left behind.

Never a peaceful moment for The Skeldon Crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time: brown! 
> 
> new team profile:   
> **CYAN:** Real name is Henry Augustus Sawyers. 24 years old. Originally from Moon: Earth Colony II. Pronouns are he/him/his and is homosexual. He comes from an influential and well-to-do bloodline, and has signed on with MIRA as a last-ditch attempt to cut familial ties for good. Physical characteristics include short, blond hair, icy blue eyes, and pale skin. He stands at 5'9" and weighs 146 lbs. He is head of communications and manages the team's itineraries, as well as acts as a sort of lackey to the team's leader, White. 
> 
> new team name:  
>  **THE SKELDON CREW:** Name suggestion came from Orange, and has been approved by the team's leader, White. It is a play on words for the popular term 'Skeleton Crew', which refers to a crew consisting of members that are ghosts or are supposedly dead. May or may have not been popularized by the Earth movie franchise _Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl._


	4. brown

**THE SKELD**

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

Red keeps repeating that phrase to himself over, and over, and over again.

When he closes his eyes, he can see everyone's smiling faces above him—the hum of the engines rhythmically resounding in the far distance. Followed up by some sort of awful, screeching noise, everything dyed in sickening shades of _red._ Then, a kind smile, one belonging to a person he hadn't seen in years...

... _Mother?_ he wordlessly speaks to her. It's been so long, but he cherishes her image religiously. Her long dark hair, a few shades lighter than his, wavy curtains surrounding a willowy frame. He can feel her warm hands comforting him already. _Mother, wait. Don't go, don't leave me...don't leave me behind..._

 _Oh, my darling, just you wait,_ she says to him, mouth unmoving. _You will see me soon._

_Come join your mother in_ _h̫̦͙e̪̝̦l̞͍͉l̝͚͕._

She grabs his neck and he screams, voice drowned out by her skeletal fingers, dark voids where her beautiful eyes should be. When he finally manages to wrest her hands away from him, she flings off into the void, swirling shape faded in a flash of light.

His body grows cold at the realization. His chest, hollow.

A cruel darkness settles upon him, followed by a silence that devours any noise, any _remnant_ of life.

Quiet, very quiet.

Eternal.

* * *

"Red," a voice whispers to him. "Red, please wake up."

He does not move. His eyes are closed, but he feels the weight of his body, tired and slow, sink into the bed below him. As The Skeldon Crew's unofficial-official medic, he knows the feeling of the infirmary beds anywhere, yet even that horrid realization can't stir him awake. He feels conscious, his mind awake, but his body remains asleep.

Try as the other person might to rouse him, otherwise. "Red?"

"Mmm..." His lips move slightly, and his arm jerks upward. He remembers the sights from before, and stirred onward from a horrific image of a mother long lost— "AH!" Red sits up rod-straight in his bed, eyes opening with painstaking slowness. "O-Oh, I'm—"

"Are you alright?"

He glances up. "Brown?" Her helmet is on, but he can imagine her worried face behind the glass—her long, wavy brown (ha) hair falling in curtains around her. "I'm sorry, I—what was I doing?"

"Sleeping," she teases him. Her voice is so calming, but he wonders if she was afraid before, when he'd been so unresponsive. "You're recovering. Do you remember what happened three days ago?"

"Three days ago?" Red looks down at himself, and sees the way that he is stripped out of the spacesuit, his plain black clothes standing out against the pristine white sheets. He curls up in the confines of his sweater and sighs. "Uh, um, what day is it?"

"Since launch? It's day three hundred and twelve," Brown reminds. "Almost the one-year anniversary of The Skeldon Crew."

Red laughs. He thinks their team name, courtesy of Orange, is rather cute. "I see. I remember it being...it was day three hundred and eight when Cyan chased me down from the cafeteria, remember?"

"I do." Brown nods. "I'd been in Admin at the time, but I could hear him from Earth, probably. Why was he cursing you out? I hadn't thought to ask before."

"Um—" Red blushes slightly at the memory. Mostly, that day was spent calming Cyan down, and explaining that if he wanted to keep messing with Red, it was Red's right to mess with him _back._ His kindness wasn't imagined like Cyan accused him of, but he wasn't all sunshine and daisies, either. It had certainly been an _eventful_ day, to say the least. "It's...complicated. We might have gotten into a fight earlier in the week."

"Hmm." Brown takes a seat at the foot of the bed, but even then, she barely takes up any space. She's even smaller than Pink, Red notices, and somehow she reminds him of his last movie night with Pink, when she'd scream a million times at the guy with the chainsaw, face buried into his side because _why_ were they watching the same chainsaw massacre movie twice in a row?

Remembering himself, Red sits upright, and rubs the last remnants of sleep from his eyes. He spots a bandage wrapped around his wrist and flinches. "W-What happened after that? I don't remember..."

At this point in time, Brown takes off her helmet, and shakes loose her wavy hair of the same color. Her face looks _tired,_ Red thinks, with dark circles under her eyes that make the irises appear more black than brown. Her lashes flutter slightly, on the verge of closing completely—how much sleep had she gotten last night? "On day three hundred and nine...we were hit."

"Hit—"

"An asteroid. Code gray."

 _Oh._ MIRA was weird and had different protocols for different procedures, but 'code gray' signified an external threat of unknown origin, anything from an asteroid to alien invaders. Every ship had defensive capabilities, so between shields and weapons, The Skeld should have held its own, but— "Did something bad happen?"

"Well, it was unexpected. We cleared the asteroids for this part of the course about a week ago, but this asteroid must have fallen out of another planetary object's orbit, or something else, because it appeared out of nowhere." Brown's voice goes softer, and Red involuntarily closes his eyes, an onset exhaustion falling over him like a veil. He leans against the bedrail and nods his head in a sleepy attempt to show that he's still listening. "Essentially, shields got damaged, and so someone needed to go outside and manually repair it."

"But what about the auto repair units?"

"They were broken when the asteroid destroyed that part of the ship." She pauses for a moment, and he hears the sound of her fingers tousling the sheets, tiny scratches against the cloth. "We need to make a pit stop in Polus to inspect everything, properly. The Skeld can only go for an upward of two weeks with the damage sustained, and we don't want to take any chances."

Red frowns. He never liked Polus that much. Most crewmates signed on with MIRA have been to Polus for one reason or another, and he remembers his trainee days quite well. The ice doesn't do much for the blood of humans, or the temper of his mood. "Hmm. I see. So then why—"

"Are you in the infirmary? Well, to finally answer your question, when shields were broken and we needed to perform manual repairs, you offered to go out there with Orange."

"...Okay?"

"Orange did most of the work, you were just there to make sure he got back safely. And you two did, for the most part, but the loading bay's circuits were fried upon impact. So the gravitational destabilizer went haywire, and the two of you were thrown for a literal loop in the loading bay."

Red tries to imagine it; he tries to picture him and Orange returning from an expedition outside the ship, only the gravity is off in the loading bay from which they came, and so instead of stepping safely into the chamber, everything floats in zero gravity, except with all the heavy machinery around, Red might've been clumsy enough to— "Oh my God," he mutters. "I hit my head, didn't I?"

"Your head collided with one of the cargo units, yes. And your arm got pinched between two of the ejector seats." Which might explain the copious amount of bandages around his wrist—those that continue down his forearm and lead into his shoulder. "Orange pulled you out, but not without difficulty. In the end, even though we were all in danger, the only one that got hurt, Red, was you."

"Brown...you didn't have to—have you gotten any sleep?" His eyes flutter open, and his throat feels as dry as a desert, but he can't even entertain the thought of drinking right now. Vampire as he may be, Red has his own limits, too. He doesn't dare cross over them now. "Next to me, the person with the most medical training is—"

"Me," she answers at the same time Red whispers _you,_ "I know. But I'm also the navigator, so it was my job to make sure the path we chose was the most correct one."

"Black navigates, too," Red insists. "It's not your fault what happened to us, Brown."

"Black _is_ a navigator, that much is true, but she is also co-captain and had to assist White during that crisis. The others, too, were all so flustered. And it was because of my shortcomings that any of this even happened." Her smile is soft, small, and _sad,_ and Red wants to cry out against it. _Don't smile for my sake,_ he wants to say but doesn't. _Don't make yourself feel bad for something out of your control._

Instead, his head screams at him to _drink her blood, already!_ His heart beats too fast, his body aches all over, and his thoughts are scrambled to no end. Yet regardless of all the pain and discomfort he feels, he knows that if he were to break face and consume her blood, Brown would never forgive him, just as he would never forgive himself in the moment.

So against all odds, he forces his throat to close, eyes watering at his own lack of strength (though grateful that due to the circumstances, might appear like tears produced from sadness, instead), nodding quietly at Brown's admission. "Brown, I—"

"I'm so sorry, Red." She places a hand over his, squeezing gently so as not to hurt him further. "You're hurt, and it's all my fault."

_You're all my fault._

He doesn't say anything, because how could he? He keeps his head low, eyes screwed shut against the constant ringing echoing in his ears.

And when Brown sniffs, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, Red keeps his mouth shut.

It's quiet after that.

* * *

Red's concussion isn't that bad, really.

He just feels like he's about to throw up every five minutes.

"You look awful," Pink comments. She is the first to visit him in the infirmary after Brown announces that Red has come to. In reality, he doesn't need to stay there any longer, but Brown insists that he make a full recovery before returning back to work.

Even so, Red is antsy, and feels incredibly guilty for causing the trouble that he did. Well, the asteroid-related trouble, not necessarily the vampirism. He sighs. "I _feel_ awful," he groans. "I hate being useless like this."

"Hey, shut up about that," Pink scolds, with half as much as the usual vigor. She's probably exhausted, as well. It can't be very comfortable aboard The Skeld now that it's been damaged. "You're not useless. It's because of you and Orange that the rest of us are safe, okay? And once we get back to Polus I'll just have to babysit your ass so you don't get into more trouble."

"Trouble..." Red remembers what Cyan had said to him before, and maybe something Orange had said a while back, too. Suddenly, it hits him: his promise to keep his vampirism under wraps has severely gotten away from him. In fact, he is doing the _opposite_ of being subtle these days. Between Pink, Orange, Cyan, and Purple, he has his hands (and his _mouth)_ full with blood. Had that been the purpose of this to start with, though? Wasn't it supposed to be a temporary thing? And what would Brown think if she knew? Red gulps. "Pink, am I...a troublesome person?"

She wilts at his words, not expecting the sadness of his voice to be so poignant nor obvious. "What do you mean?"

"Since I've come aboard to The Skeld, have I just...have I made things worse for everyone?" Red curls up, knees drawn to his chest. "You, Orange, Purple, Cyan, and now Brown—"

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa._ That's a slippery slope if I've ever heard one!" Pink taps him lightly on the shoulder, prompting him to look up at her. "Where's this attitude coming from? How badly did you hit your head?"

"Apparently, really badly?" Red doesn't remember it, of course, but the stony look in Brown's eyes, and the sterile white bandages over his body told him everything he needed to know. "Or maybe my head's finally on _straight_ after all that. I shouldn't have—none of this should've ever happened."

"If you're talking about the blood-drinking, you're about three hundred days too late, buddy." Pink sighs. "Remember? It's almost been a year since we've started. What would you have done without us, anyway? Drain the medbay supplies? Go off solo into the unknown somewhere? Or worse, _die?"_

He winces at the harsh reality of her words. "Not die, just—I dunno, I feel like I'm making so many people miserable!"

" _You,"_ Pink hisses, "have made me happier than I've been in my entire _life._ And I thought I did the same to you."

 _No,_ he thinks frantically. _No, that's not what I meant!_ "Pink, that's not what I—"

"But if I cause you such _anguish,_ then just forget about it." She stands up to leave, denying his protests and screwing the helmet to her spacesuit back on. "If it makes you happier, just wipe my memories clean like you did with Cyan, right? Oh wait a minute, _he remembered."_

"Pink—"

"Get some rest, idiot."

She leaves medbay, and it's less dramatic when there's a lack of door to slam behind you as you leave, but as the automatic doors slide close, Red thinks it does the job in the same way.

He curls up even more on himself, silently wishing he'd never been born.

Or at least, wishing he never _woke up._

* * *

"Red?" Brown is at his bedside again. It's casual Friday, and nearly a whole week has passed since the asteroid incident. The Skeldon Crew is scheduled to land on Polus in less than five days, and Red dreads (but also, anticipates) it all the while. But now, Brown looks concerned, and her pretty blouse with its intricate design stands out against the plain surroundings of the infirmary. "Red, are you okay?"

Red, of course, only has one sense of fashion: black. He has other colors in his wardrobe, of course, but he's not much of a fashionista ( _not like Pink,_ he bitterly thinks) and will wear just about anything, so long as it fits. For this week's Casual Friday, he dons a white sweater with black-sewn elbow patches, together with his favorite pair of jeans and the fuzzy black socks Yellow gave to him as an early birthday present. Since he's still a no-go on typical crewmate activity, he's decided to make cozy in the infirmary, his now second home. "I'm fine," he mumbles. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I don't believe you're fine in the least," Brown insists. She puts a strand of hair behind her ear, and reaches out to Red with her other hand. He can't help but stare at the silver band around her ring finger. He didn't know she was engaged. "Can I touch you?"

He blinks up at her, confused at the odd request, but nods, anyway. "You don't have to keep doing this, y'know." She doesn't answer him right away, hand pressed against his forehead. Her skin is surprisingly cool, and against his burning skin, feels like a comfort long lost. He closes his eyes and sighs. "I'm not a baby."

"Oh, I know. I don't mean to treat you like you are." She pulls her hand away gently, and despite what he just said, Red already misses the comfort in her touch. "I guess it's just 'cause you remind me of someone back home."

 _Back home?_ It occurs to Red that as long as he's been on The Skeld, he hasn't really gotten to know all of his crewmates that well. Brown, the least of them. He asks, "Where's your family from?"

"My mom was born on Earth. My dad is from Mars," she explains. "I have a younger brother." She grins at him when she says this—that brother must be who he reminds her of. "I grew up on Earth after they got married and my Dad moved closer to her home. The city I grew up in was so colorful, vendors on the street and striped pennants hanging in alleyways. There used to be this calico cat that would sit on my porch, too, greeting me every day as I come to and from school." Brown laughs, nostalgia dripping in every ounce of her voice. Red yearns for this home, too, even if it's not his. "I thought I'd end up like my mom, an author, or my dad, a painter. My brother took up sculpting. I thought I'd stay in the city and dedicate my life to the arts like they did."

"Yet—"

"And yet, what interested me wasn't the murals or the art galleries, but the sky." Brown glances out the window in infirmary, which has a clear view of the velvet-black void of the universe outside. To think that if it wasn't for their automation or their navigation guide, they'd be lost in the infinite cosmos beyond. It chills yet warms them in equal strides. "The meteor showers were mesmerizing, almost. I watched rockets and spaceships launch into space as a kid, wondering if I'd get to do that, too."

"And then MIRA came along," Red supplies another branch in the story, piecing together what he knows about Brown to this day.

"And then MIRA came along," Brown agrees, voice quiet to a near hush. "So I don't regret the decisions I've made—not about my career, anyway."

"..."

"I simply wanted to apologize to you again."

"Brown, you've already apologized to me a million times." Red doesn't want to sound pushy, but he also doesn't want her to engage an endless cycle of guilty feelings, either. "You don't have to do it again."

"I know, I just wanted to. One last and final time." Brown gently reaches for his hand, but hesitates once she remembers his insistence that she not treat him like a child.

Going back on his own word, Red reaches out and bridges the gap between them, fingers interlocking with hers in a lukewarm embrace.

She laughs at his insistence, and says, "Red, I'm sorry for what happened. Will you forgive me?"

"Of course." He brings her hand to his lips and kisses it, lips brushing past the silver ring. "I've already forgotten all about it."

* * *

Red and Pink may have their disagreements, but they make it up to each other every time.

This time is no different.

Red gets a little help from Green, master biologist (and botanist) that he is, and scrounges up a few flowers—rare and beautiful things on The Skeld, only made possible thanks to the oxygen room's mini-greenhouse setup, one that pales in comparison to its counterpart in MIRA HQ.

Even so, less than half a dozen red blooms are gathered together, tied up with twine, and offered before Pink in a way of apology.

Her eyes tear up at the sight of them, and she takes the flowers from Red and holds them close to her chest. "Oh," she mutters. "They're beautiful."

 _So are you,_ Red wants to say but doesn't. Instead, he nods. "They are. I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I can't even blame it on the concussion, or whatever I just—" he remembers the sight of his dead mother, ringing true in his head and beckoning him to the abyss with her. Had that been real, too, or some afterimage from the incident? "I dunno. I'm sorry, though. Can you forgive me?"

"Of course I can," Pink sighs. "I already _did_. Stupid."

"Oh, there's my Pink, calling me names again..." He takes a step forward, flashing her a knowing grin that turns her legs to jelly, eyes widening at the sight of his fangs, poised and ready but yet— "What should I do with you, hmm?"

"That's what _I_ should be saying." Yet despite the tease in her voice, she makes no movement to stop him as he goes closer to her, mouth ghosting over the base of her neck. A familiar position for the two of them as the days have passed. "You really are an idiot, Red."

"Only 'cause I've got you to straighten me out," he insists, sinking his fangs into her slowly, lovingly.

She no longer flinches at his touch, instead closing her eyes serenely, falling into him once more. "Yeah, yeah, you keep telling yourself that."

Quiet falls over them, and for the first time in a long time, Red feels at peace.

* * *

"Can I ask you something?"

Red glances up. Today, he is in Navigation with Brown, assisting her with charting the last of their course to Polus. They should arrive on the icy planet in less than a day, but in all honesty, Red just wanted to spend some time with Brown, as he has grown to appreciate her company as of late. "What's up?" he asks.

"How did you heal so quickly?"

He stops in place, hands hovering over the keyboard to the computer unit. Does she mean what he _thinks_ she does? "What do you mean? _You're_ the one that healed me, remember?"

"I meant to tell you about that, actually." Brown swipes at one of the screens, then closes out of the program altogether. Through the glassy surface of the helmet, she discerns him carefully, watching the way his suit shakes slightly because of the nervous person within it. "I _did_ heal you, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until I checked the damage logs from the incident."

His heart threatens to beat out his ribcage, but he manages to keep it in check. "And what did you find out?"

"Apparently, right before the gravity gave out in the chamber you and Orange were in, it changed very rapidly, and the cargo unit that collided with you went at a temporary speed of 90 miles per hour. As in, at that speed, the force of the cargo unit should have been strong enough to kill you." She turns to look at him, an odd twinkle in her eye. "Yet you're alive, thank goodness. Don't get me wrong, Red, I don't wish you were dead by any means. I was just curious. How did you recover so quickly from what should've been lethal damage?"

His heart beats louder, and louder, and louder, still. "Well that's—"

"You were concussed for a few days, as well, but lately you've been just fine. In your last physical, you were even healthier than normal. I think you met with Pink or Cyan right before then, right?" _Uh-oh._ Despite Red's inner panic, Brown seems utterly calm as she ponders this. "Care to explain that for me?"

"...Um..."

"Strangely enough, I also didn't need to do a blood transfusion on you, despite your injuries. So then—"

"Okay, okay, you got me." Red slumps over in his seat. "If I tell you, will you promise not to tell—" _Orange, Pink, Purple, and Cyan are already in it, so_ — "the others?"

Brown's playful tone disappears at once when she realizes the seriousness of the situation. She nods. "I promise."

"Okay, so long story short..."

* * *

"Ah," Brown says, after what feels like an eternity later. "I see. That explains a lot, actually."

Red blinks at her. It is "nighttime" on The Skeld again, and they've taken the liberty of their conversation to Brown's dorm room. Here, they are stripped out of the standard spacesuits, and changed into more comfortable (and more _human)_ clothing. Red, in his classic black sweater and black pants combo, and Brown, with her long taupe skirt and colorful blouse. "Explains what, exactly?"

"Well, I take a look at medical records, sometimes. I always thought you were too pale, and the amount of injuries listed in your recent medical history is concerning." Her face scrunches into a knot. "And the fact that Pink, Orange, Purple, and Cyan have had recent blood transfusions done wasn't out of hemoglobin testing, was it? You were giving them extra transfusions after drinking from them."

"Just to be safe," Red insists. "I mean, I can accelerate their natural healing, but I don't want—I didn't want any of them to stay hurt for too long."

She rolls her eyes. "Well, that's silly."

"H-Huh?" he balks at her. "Why?"

"Don't you know that continual, gradual blood loss has negative effects? Even if you heal them or what-have-you afterwards, the fact that you regularly consume their blood is troublesome."

"I-I thought—"

"I'd gladly lend myself to your cause, if only so I can regulate the schedule of the others."

"Brown!" Red stands up from her bed, cheeks flushed and eyes blown wide. "What are you saying? That's not—I would never drink from you, Brown. You're too—" _Nice? Kind? Helpful? Motherly?_ — "you don't deserve that, Brown."

"But the others do?"

"..."

"I'm not trying to be a martyr or anything, I just don't think it's wise to keep drawing from them like that." She smiles softly, in a way that makes his heart ache. "I think you're overestimating a human's resistance."

Wait, _has_ he been overestimating everyone's abilities to tolerate his behavior? Pink doesn't complain most of the time, and even though Orange complains a _lot,_ he doesn't seem to mind their arrangement. Drinking from Cyan has become more of a joke than a necessity, and Red never likes to bother Purple more than is necessary. But through it all, have they been suffering in ways that he hasn't noticed?

Just how weak _are_ humans, anyway?

Red says, "Maybe, I hadn't thought about it like that."

"...Really? What did you do about blood-drinking _before_ The Skeldon Crew?" Brown stares at him, incredulous.

He looks away. "...I don't really wanna talk about that."

"Alright. But my suggestion still stands. I don't suppose you are—"

"I'm thirsty." Red's fangs poke out from his lips, and he inhales slightly, nerves rattled by the closeness of Brown's body and the pulse thrumming beneath her neck. "I just thought I'd sleep it off."

"Now, now, there's no need for that." Her kindness continues, as Brown gathers her long hair in her hands, throwing it over one shoulder to expose her skin. Red notices her blouse, and how it is lowcut enough for her neck to be exposed—had she wanted this outcome from the start? "Next time, don't make yourself suffer and just come to me."

He feels his heart race at her suggestion. There's no way she meant to say it like _that,_ did she? Or is her kindness the truly imagined one, and Brown is a seductress in disguise?

Has _he_ fallen for someone else's trap, this time?

Without thinking of the answer, Red nods. "Alright, I will. Thank you, Brown."

She smiles. He takes her silence as a means to continue.

And the rest of the night is spent in tranquility: Red's fangs finding their mark in Brown's neck, ivory bones sinking into her, eliciting a happy sigh as she leans into him for comfort, for support. He clings to her tightly, nails digging into the soft of her back through the blouse's material. He is careful not to waste a single drop of blood with her, lapping up the excess as it falls into her collarbones, Brown making some noise that is half-offended, half-pleased.

When they are done, Red pulls away, a manic energy running through him, veins pumping electricity instead of blood, eyes intense and colorful against the dark. At the same time, a haze pulls itself over Brown, causing her to collapse against his shoulder—arms weakly wrapped around his own. "Hmm," she mutters drowsily. "Not quite what I expected, that."

"What did you expect?" His voice is humorous and gentle, to the point where his true concern (his worried thoughts over her observations from earlier) is masked expertly.

"More pain. Maybe death."

"I would never hurt you," he whispers. "I promise."

She peers up at him, dark eyes scintillating with some playful curiosity. "My, how valiant. In that case, I'll hold you to it."

"Of course."

They stay like that for a little bit longer: holding hands, leaning on each other for support, Red running his thumb over her ring and wondering if she is actually engaged or not, and if she is, what her fiancé would think of their circumstances right now.

Because, for what it matters, Brown herself doesn't seem to terribly mind.

And Red will never speak out against her, try as he might.

A perfect arrangement for everyone involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time: black, on polus! 
> 
> new team profile:   
> **BROWN:** Real name Karina Javelosa. 28 years old. Originally from Earth. Pronouns are she/her/hers, and is bisexual. She has had an interest in space from youth, and since then, she has been on over one hundred expeditions, earning her respect and renown amongst MIRA's ranks. Physical characteristics include: long, dark brown hair worn in a slightly wavy fashion, dark brown eyes, and brown skin. She stands at 5'4" and weighs 143 lbs. Her position on The Skeldon Crew is the main navigator, in charge of charting the course and occasionally managing weapons and/or shields.


	5. black

**POLUS**

"Everyone's sure getting cozy around here," Black hums, "don't you think?"

White looks up from her tablet screen. It's been three days since The Skeldon Crew landed themselves safely and soundly on Polus, and now that they've begun the repairs on the ship, they have an estimated three weeks left before they're set to return to course. In the meantime, the members are helping the Polus base as much as they can, all while trying to return to their own version of 'normal.'

Though, with members like Black around, White supposes that normal is just a fantasy, at this point. She smiles, fingers tapping softly along the screen's surface. "I think so. It would be sad if after all this time, none of us have grown closer to one another. It can be lonely, these long journeys, so it's nice to have people to share the solitude with."

Black nods. "Well-spoken, O Great Leader. Remind me to disseminate your grand word to the others when it's not ass-cold outside."

"Now, now, there's no need for that." White returns to work. She resists the urge to sigh, as there are fifty other things she has to do today and not nearly enough time in the universe to do them. Though if Black is the one to start the conversation, that can only mean one thing. "You're not thinking of causing any additional trouble, are you Black?"

"Depends on what you define as 'trouble,'" Black says. "I mean, the kids on this crew act like they're big n' tough, when they're the cutest, most _defenseless_ creatures I've seen in a _long_ time."

"Black—"

"Well, except for _Red."_

" _Black."_ White's tone is sturdy and stern— _disapproving_ , almost. How strange. "That's enough."

"Oh, come on. You know I'm right, White. Hey, that rhymed!"

"Black. Don't make me say it again."

"Fine, fine, relax! I'll go easy on 'em. Speaking of which." Black stands up from the chair, stretching her arms out. White doesn't have to look at her to know that she's made up her mind, already, regardless of what her leader has to say. "Red should have a task in admin just about now...maybe I'll drop by and say hello."

"Go easy on him," White insists. "On _all_ of them, actually. We're on Polus already: there's no need to act colder than is necessary."

"Ha, nice comparison there: Polus, cold, necessity." Black waves her off. "I got it, I got it, no maiming."

" _Black."_

"What?" Black calls out, halfway out the door and voice fading behind the metal. "I was just kidding!"

* * *

"So, do you need to get laid, or what?"

"Aah!" Red screams. He hadn't expected to see Black in admin. The lights are on, but the one corner of the room gets dark due to the way the furniture is stacked there. That, and Red just simply hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings until Black pointed it out.

In that weird way Black tends to do things.

"H-Hey Black," he mutters. She is, unabashedly, one of his least favorite members in The Skeldon Crew. As such, it's difficult to school his tone around her, scared or not. "What was _that_ about? Also, I do _not_ need to get laid—"

"Wait, really? You don't?" she cuts into his words effortlessly, taking several steps closer as she speaks. Black is barely taller than Red, but she towers over him in more ways than one. He can smell her perfume, too—heady and _violent,_ something dark and overwhelming that he suspects she chose _just_ to annoy him.

Something to mask the subtle danger underneath. "No, of course I don't—"

"I mean, with the way you're going through the members like used tissues, I wouldn't know the difference."

"Black!"

"And Pink's a kid, too, ain't she? Okay, I'm exaggerating, she's only a couple of years younger than you, so it's fine, but switching from her to Orange? Or to Purple? Cyan? Adding Brown in the mix, too?" Black smiles, wolfish and bright—all teeth and teases. Sinking her voice, her smile, _herself_ into Red, bit by bit. "You're quite sly, Red."

His own resolve begins to wear down. "That's...I can explain all that…"

"Oh, I'm _sure_ you can. But don't say something stupid, like you're _such a babe magnet_ or _the power of friendship_ brought you together, or whatever." She closes the distance, pressing herself against Red and drowning out his protests by shoving him against the nearby wall.

Her hand at his throat, not yet choking him, but not quite letting him breathe, either. The motion is no less painful as it had been before. Her knee presses into him, too, an additional pressure he doesn't know how to deal with. Tears prick the corners of Red's eyes, and she laughs at his pathetic attempt to fling her off. Because in addition to being taller than him, Black is _stronger_ than Red, too.

Her eyes turn darker, until there is no other color left in them. Her canine teeth sharp to a dangerous, yet _familiar,_ point.

Red's throat closes up.

Black tightens her grasp on him, resisting the urge to completely laugh in his face as he squirms. "You think I wouldn't notice this whole time, Red? Even after we both saw each other at initiation and _knew?"_

"Black—"

"Even though we're _both vampires?"_

He can't say anything in response to that. He knows exactly what she's talking about.

And it happened almost a whole year ago.

…

**MIRA HQ**

**ALMOST A WHOLE YEAR AGO**

"Hey," Black shouts. "You, with the dark sweater."

The stranger looks over his shoulder. Black gets a good look at him: dark eyes, dark hair, cute lips, kind of pale skin but that's okay, and overall an innocent face. She could get used to a guy like that. "W-What is it?"

"I saw you with the new recruits," Black says. In comparison, she is tall, fair, willowy, and friends used to call her _model-like._ Her eyes are dark like his are, but way darker as she treads the line of having completely black eyes. If she does have black eyes, at least they go with her black hair that she can style in just about any way possible. Recently it's been a short, asymmetrical cut for her—A-line, they call it. Hime-cut, others call it. Who cares? "You're scheduled for The Skeld, aren't you?"

"That's right." He turns around fully, and up close she can see how lean and lanky he actually is. His sweater sleeves are barely too long, exposing the tips of his fingers and nothing else. What a baby. "Starting tomorrow, I'll be known as Red. Are you also a member of The Skeld?"

"Yup." She points a thumb at her own badge, one of those tacky clip-on ones the superior officers were giving out to everyone that actually showed up. And to think Black would have missed the entire orientation if it wasn't for the free food at the end of the day. "Name's Black. Nice to meetcha."

"Nice to meet you." Red starts to bow, but she giggles at him, and then he hesitates. When he meets Black's discerning gaze, he hesitates further, and settles for an awkward shudder. "Uh, well, if that's all, I'll get going—"

"Didn't think I'd see another one of my kind 'round here," she suddenly says. Her gaze softens, but not in a way that Red understands. "Kind of an unexpected place for us, don'tcha think?"

Red's face falls. She can hear his heartbeat, erratic and tinny, echoing in her ears. There's also a faint hint of bloodlust, familiar and poignant, coming off him in waves. She almost wants to inhale him, take in his scent which she's forgotten for so long, until he opens his goddamn mouth to speak. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, no! No, no, no! Come on!" she shouts, shaking her fists up at the ceiling. "Fate, why are you so cruel to me?! You reunite me with another of my kind after, what, twenty years, and _this_ is what you've got to show me? Some kid that's in denial of what's obviously the truth?!"

Saying that Red looks alarmed is an understatement. He has his hands up like Black is an officer that's got him cornered. He just means to calm her down, because, boy, was _that_ a complete-180 turn she just did. "Black, I don't know what you're talking about, but—"

"Oh, yes, you fucking do!" Black drags him by the arm, ignoring his protests as she slams open one of the supply room closets, and tosses him in there with the mops and brooms.

Red's voice is lost in a cacophony of cleaning supplies falling over each other, together with the added presence of Black slamming the door closed behind them in a stuffed room. The next thing he knows, she has him against the wall, torso pressed against his, her hand clamped around his throat, one sharp knee dug into his leg.

Her eyes slowly morph, irises and pupils becoming one in the same.

Her fangs are sharp as she parts her lips, breath shallow and ragged.

Red gasps. "Black, don't—"

She sinks her fangs in him. It's not as forbidden of an act as one would think: one vampire drinking from another. The truth is that human blood is necessary to sustain one's self, to prevent a vampire from becoming some sort of god-awful abomination of a being, with a black heart and ashen soul, all limbs and teeth and no heart or brain inside of the monster who only wants blood. In order to prevent such a horrid transformation, it's necessary to drink a human's blood every now and then.

Yet, in desperate times and even more desperate measures, vampire blood can suffice, too. A vampire's blood tastes lackluster, in comparison, but it whets the appetite just enough to keep a person sane.

Or in this case, to prove one vampire's _insanity_ over the other.

Because Black _had_ to be insane.

Red's thoughts reassure him of this fact, as he closes his eyes against the sight of her, hands knotted up in the fabric of her blouse (at the small of her back), nails digging past the material and into her skin. There is almost no height difference between them, so it feels like he's being devoured by _himself_ , knives and syringes where a mouth should be, dark crimson blood slowly flowing out of his wound—Black's intakes heavy and hungry, all the while.

When she finally pulls away, he feels lightheaded and shaky, eyes blown wide at the realization of what just happened.

Black, perhaps in a further attempt to humiliate him, lets the stray blood drip out of her mouth and right onto the floor, the _drip-drop_ sounds getting drowned out by her roaring laughter. "Damn, you don't taste that bad for a fellow vamp! Kinda sweet, too—you been watching that blood sugar alright?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Red yells, but is hushed by her hand over his mouth, and Black glaring daggers into his eyes. "Why—"

"A warning," she hums, soft and low against him, her mouth lingering by his ear, by his _neck_. She removes her hand from his mouth, but lets it linger on his shoulder, instead. "If you pull any stunts with the members aboard The Skeld, I'm gonna have you pay for it. The last thing I need is another thoughtless leech making my life any harder than it needs to be. If this is too hard for you to understand, then I'd suggest you quit the program now and get the fuck outta my face."

"That's not—"

"Got that?" She peels herself off of him, stumbling over the fallen array of buckets and sponges from before, but managing to stand upright in the end. When he meets her gaze, he sees the manic bloodlust within her fading, as the blacks in her eyes revert back to a dark brown—her haunched, animalistic stance returning to something more civil, more humane. "I won't make this speech twice, y'hear?"

"...Fine," he murmurs. "But if it matters to you, which maybe it doesn't, I wasn't going to do anything like that! I just—I'm here for a reason, and it's not to be an impostor and kill humans or something."

"Why _are_ you here, then?"

"I just...I wanted to start over."

She raises a brow at him. "Start over?"

"Yeah, I—"

"Hey, save it."

He blinks. "H-Huh?"

"You're about to tell me your angsty past or whatever, right?" She sighs deeply. "We're going to be crewmates together for the indefinite future, so there will be plenty of time to tell me all the fucked up things about you then."

"Black—"

"And _until then_ , this conversation never happened." She kicks the supply closet door open (why is _that_ door a classic door-with-a-doorknob, and the rest of MIRA HQ has automated doors like a normal space station? why?), a small pile of things tumbling out the room with her. "Also, clean this shit up. What a fucking mess."

"You made the mess to start with!" Red whines. "Why do I have to do it?"

"Oh, I guess I should've made myself clear from the start. We're crewmates, sure, but I'm a higher rank than your dumbass will ever be."

The look on his face is priceless. "That's—"

"Introducing me! Black!" Her arms are spread wide, a gleeful smile on her face. "Co-captain of the soon-to-be team you're joining! As in, you little shits have gotta listen to me when I say you do, and all that jazz! Ain't that cool?"

"..."

"Nice to finally meet you!"

…

**BACK TO**

**POLUS**

"I warned you," Black hissed. "I warned you, Red."

"I didn't mean to!" Red cries out. Where is everyone? How come no one is within earshot of what could be Red's last conversation in life? "It just, I got so thirsty, and Purple—"

"Purple? What _about_ Purple?" She tightens her hold on his neck. He suspects that with how sharp her nails are, she might even be drawing blood from him. Also, he realizes several moments too late that both of them have their helmets off in admin—was it to feel the comfort of the heated air firsthand? Or maybe some part of him knew Black would be here, and he wanted to see her instability with his own two eyes?

Does it matter? "Purple said _yes,_ when I asked," Red sputters out. It's hard to focus on anyone else but Black in this moment, try as he might. All he can think about is a way out. Is Black capable of killing? Is she going to kill him? In such close quarters, no less? "So I drank from them."

"And the rest? Pink, Orange, Cyan, and Brown?"

"Went downhill," he whispers, voice cracking beneath her slender fingers. "I didn't mean to get any of them involved at first! I'm sorry, Black. I didn't, I wasn't—I know I said I wouldn't drink from anyone, but, but! I didn't, didn't know what else to do, and the infirmary's supply—"

"Ugh, fine, I get it! No need to give me the whole sob story, you asshole."

She lets go of him. Red gasps for air as he falls to his knees.

However, Black gives him no quarter as she crouches down to his level. Her hands are cupped around his chin, squeezing, and she forces him to look up at her, dazed and weakened as he is, yet further lacking the motivation to fight back, because he could never beat Black—not in a million years.

She knows this, yet feels utter satisfaction as he flinches from her touch: long nails dragging down the sides of his face, leaving faint pink scratch marks in their place. She smiles. "You know, I forgot to tell you this when we first met, but I always thought you were a pretty little thing."

"...I…"

"You're cute even when you're scared!" Black sounds genuinely amazed. "How _do_ you do that, Red? How do you make it so easy to wanna hurt you this badly?"

"What am I supposed to say to that?" Red mutters. "W-What do you want me to say?"

Black ponders the answer for a few moments. As she does, she maintains her power over Red, analyzing him carefully. Then, after what feels like an eternity later, she says: "You know, you can keep drinking their blood if you want."

He blinks, once, twice, then three times—and stares. Hard. "What?"

"Sure, make mincemeat of our supposed 'friends,' why don't you, and see where that gets you."

"But I thought—"

"Idiot. As if I'd let you off that easy." She digs her fingers further into him, breaking skin and drawing blood. He cries out at the harsh contact, and she lets the dark red fluids stain her fingers, before bringing them back to her own lips to taste.

Red is silent, horrified.

She finds his reaction amusing and goes on to say, "Obviously, I'll only let you continue doing what you do on one condition. Well, actually, two conditions."

He laughs weakly, propping himself against the wall, but lacking the energy to fully stand up. She continues her assault on him as the skin near his cheek is probed, then carefully sliced open. He watches his own blood pool beneath her fingertips before speaking: "You act as if I have a choice."

"You always have a choice," she mutters, tasting the bits of blood on her fingers, like a child who has their hands on a mixer full of cake batter. "Vampire or not."

"..."

"First, no serious injuries. Passing out might be inevitable for humans, but if I see people wind up in the goddamn infirmary because of you, I'm kicking your ass. Er, more than I'm kicking it already."

Red doesn't say anything. He just closes his eyes and nods wordlessly.

Black continues. "Second, if I wanna call in some... _harmless_ favors, well, you'll be there first thing." She runs a thumb over the newly-formed wound on his cheek, fondly examining it as if it _wasn't_ exposed flesh and blood in the making. Of her _own_ making. "Won't you?"

"You're cruel," he whispers. "You're worse than I could ever be."

She laughs. "Stating the obvious? Come on, Red, I know you're smarter than that."

"Fine, whatever, I'll—I'll do as you say. Can you just—can you let me go?" He tries to pull away from her hand, but her grip is iron around him. He glances up at her, eyes wide—the _epitome_ of vulnerability. " _Please?"_

"...Okay," she concedes. "Only because you asked nicely." Black relents, and Red sighs as he is finally able to curl up on himself, body trembling. A vision of red on his own. "Oh, come on, I wasn't going to do anything _too_ badly to you...you know that, don't you Red?"

He mutters something that sounds like _Shut up_ and Black almost wants to react, before she remembers herself, and how she has what was once the most dangerous crewmate under her thumb.

Well, more like under her _palm,_ as she reaches out to him, patting his head with such kind and gentle force, it makes him confused as to which role she is supposed to play in the story of his life.

Ally? Or enemy? Antagonist? Villain? Or both?

Does it matter?

Will it ever matter?

 _Probably not,_ Red thinks to himself hopelessly. _But maybe this is my fault. Maybe I should never have—_

"Hey, quit sulking. I'm calling in your first favor."

 _Already?_ He inhales quietly, mentally preparing himself for whatever madness Black has ready for him. When he peers up at her, he notices that she's leaning against the admin table, now relaxed as if nothing had happened between them just then. Her ability to switch face this quickly and this seamlessly is impressive, if not _terrifying._ "What is it?" he asks, voice hoarse. He wants to feel his neck for any injuries but decides against it.

She appears bored, somehow, twirling a strand of hair around her finger endlessly. "Tell me about your past?"

He sits up a little straighter. "Excuse me?"

"Back then, you were talking about how this is a new start for you or whatever. I said to save it for later." She grins. "Well, guess what, Red? It's later!"

Truth be told, Red doesn't like _thinking,_ let alone _talking,_ about what happened to his Mom and his little siblings, but Black doesn't give him much room for protest, and if someone on this ship were to know the truth…

...It may as well be the only other _monster_ aboard. Laughing at how cruel this fact, and this _fate_ is, Red obliges, reluctantly so. Black focuses all her attention on him, in the meanwhile. "Well, it happened about five years ago…"

* * *

The scene is this: Purple, Red, Cyan, Green, and Black are in the office.

Pink has just _left_ the office, ushered out by Black who insists that "underage babies" aren't allowed to partake in what is God's greatest gift to humanity (Red laughs at that part): alcohol.

The other members were all invited, but some declined for various reasons. Orange was tired, and didn't want a hangover when working on the engines tomorrow. Yellow and Lime felt bad for Pink, so they wanted to go have a fun sleepover with her in the meanwhile. Blue said that she's no fun to be around when drunk, which made them all wonder if that was true. And Brown, pure as she is, declined politely. They didn't dare to ask White, because she was so busy all the time, but Black reassured them that their captain had better things to do than get totally wasted with her lackeys.

So that left Purple, Red, Cyan, Green, and Black. Together, they're all drinking alcohol, and _lots_ of it.

Green passes out first. "Laaaame," Cyan drones. His hair is ruffled and his face is reddened, but far be it from Red to tease him when he's drunk. "Guess who can't hold their liquor? That guy over there, aha…"

"Shut the fuck up, Green. You're wasted as fuck." Black yawns, legs up on the table as she looks relaxed and tipsy (Red knows she is not). She glances at Purple and Red. "You two look fine, though."

"This is nothing," Purple brags. And they're right—if anything, they look _more sober_ than they were _before_ the alcohol! "But I'll control myself. Wouldn't wanna give our medic more trouble than he needs, eh?"

They elbow at Red playfully, who can only act nervous in the presence of Black. True to her word, she makes him carry out the most menial tasks ("Can you get me a snack? I'm starving!" or "My feet are killing me. Massage 'em?" or even "Tell Cyan if he doesn't shut the fuck up I'm throwing him in the magma myself.") when she is too lazy to do them herself. Yet, Red's feedings have gone largely unimpeded, and day-by-day, The Skeld is on its way to getting repaired.

Which means that things might go back to normal when Black is on her regular schedule. Maybe. Even so, there are other moments they share ("Tell me about your Mom, again." "Why?" "Just tell me.") that feel so _real,_ Red wonders why their relationship has to be the way it is for those memories to form. They're both vampires, and though their pasts are different, their present reality is very much the same.

Red feels it when Black's watchful gaze lands on him, and she leans over to punch his arm. "Let's play fuck marry kill."

"Are you serious?" says Red at the same time Cyan shouts "Okay!"

Purple is silent but nods in agreement.

Green snores loudly.

Black grins. "Okay, easy: for me, I'd fuck White, marry Red, and kill Cyan."

"Fuck you," Cyan spits.

"Marry _me?"_ Red gawks.

"Fuck _White?"_ Purple gasps.

Green snores again.

Black ruffles up her own hair, laughing at their mixed reactions. "You want an explanation? First, White: total bombshell. You agree, right? And she's _so_ my type, I love women who are hardworking and caring like that. Plus, if she was a total freak under the pristine surface, that'd be even better."

Red blushes. Cyan rolls his eyes. Purple seems...to understand? They simply nod and drink another glass of whatever they'd been drinking that night.

Green is still asleep.

Black continues her explanation. "I mean, I guess if I had _second_ choices I'd say fuck Blue, too, because have you _seen_ Blue—"

"Black," Purple scoffs. "You're getting off topic."

"Why kill _me?"_ Cyan whines. "I didn't do _shit_ to you."

"You spend way too much time with White. Lay off my woman, gay boy."

"Go fuck yourself, Black."

The night goes on like that. Red sighs and leans on his hands. He guesses that Black only said she'd marry Red as yet another way of teasing him, but part of him has to wonder.

What's her real reason for saying that?

Somehow, the conversation derails as Cyan and Purple end up having a deep discussion about why Cyan shouldn't be the first one killed if there's an impostor, and with Green's unconscious ass still sprawled out over the table, it's all too easy for Black to sit a little closer to Red.

He glances at her, and sees the angle of her face reflected in the dark surface of the wine, like the moon reflected in the waves of the sea.

He stares into its depths as she speaks. "Ain't you curious?"

She sounds more patient tonight, and he counts that as a blessing. "About what?"

"Don't play coy, Red," she snaps. "You know I hate it when you answer my questions with another question."

He blushes, embarrassed, but still doesn't look up to meet her gaze directly. Instead, he swirls _his_ own drink around, wondering how many of _those_ it would take for him to forget any of this ever happened. "I'm curious, but I feel like you picked me for marriage just to tease me."

"That's part of it. I mean, I don't really believe in marriage to start with. It's an institution from days long gone, and humans either die after living an unfulfilling sex life, or get divorced and get married again before they do." She lifts her glass into the air, examining it carelessly, drops of wine spilling out as she moves. "It seems pointless."

Red has a lot to say to disagree with her, but he knows better than to stir her up when she's not being particularly volatile this time. instead, he simply shrugs. "I guess."

"Aw, come on. It's obvious you think I'm wrong. I mean, even though she's human, I could totally imagine you getting shacked up with Pink in the future—in some forest cottage or a small city apartment or something else _totally_ barf-worthy." She laughs at his face. "Am I right?"

"Stop picking on Pink," he insists. "It's not—we're not like that."

" _Yet,"_ Black reminds.

"Yet," Red agrees.

"Hey, I don't mean to discount your other friends. Orange might cry if you get married without him."

" _Black."_

"I'm right, you gotta admit!" Black laughs some more, making him wonder if she's always been this crazy, or if _he_ was the one that really made her lose her mind, way back when. "No, but seriously, do you wanna know the _real_ reason I picked you for marriage?"

He glances at Cyan and Purple, who are still way too distracted to hear them right now, and Green who will probably ache in the morning from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. Black really knows the best moments to corner someone, he realizes: the best time to be serious, to lay out the secrets that people would rather keep hidden, and force feed them down someone's throat, forceful yet generous.

Completely unstable, completely unhinged, but somehow endearing and intriguing. That's Black, for you. Or maybe Red has lost his mind, too, and now finds her behavior tolerable.

Nevertheless, he can't deny her no matter how much he tries, so he answers her question outright, for once. "Yes, I wanna know. Why'd you pick me, of all people?"

"Easy. Because if I _did_ believe in marriage, I'd want a marriage where the couple stays together for as long as possible. 'Til death does them part, right?" The tone in her voice—reminiscent, sad, nostalgic, _longing_ —does not go unnoticed, and Red's heart yearns for her in some strange and unknown way.

Yearning for the Black in the past who might not have been so disillusioned, so violent, so harmful when there was no need for it. A Black who might've wanted marriage, a simple life, a happy life, with no more bloodshed than what was necessary.

For Black who is sitting right next to him. "Okay?"

"And, you're one of the only people in the entire universe who can live as long as I do. You might be the only person _alive_ who knows about me as much as you do." She glances at him, and this time their eyes meet—black and red, blood and bone, vampiric in nature and human in appearance. Similar souls. "You don't have to believe it, but that's the truth."

For the first time since meeting her, Red realizes that this time, he really does believe her. He nods silently, raising his glass to hers, hoping that one day, her hold on him is released, and even if they can't be together forever, they can at least see eye-to-eye.

Black, eyes wide at his gesture—perhaps seeing through him better than she first anticipated—hesitates to clink glasses with him. It's just a meaningless movement, but she's been alive long enough to know that even the smallest motion can generate a wave.

As such, she draws her wine glass close to her chest, laughing at his face when she refuses to toast with him. "Sorry," she says, "but the glass is fragile. It could break, y'know?"

And whether or not Red really knows, she can't be sure. But he seems to understand her meaning, and carefully retracts his hand, setting his glass down on the table instead. "That's a shame," he says, but doesn't elaborate.

They spend the rest of the night in drunken silence, hands to themselves.

It's just as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time: yellow!
> 
> new team profile:  
>  **BLACK:** Real name is [REDACTED]. 26 years old. Originally from Earth. Pronouns are she/her/hers and she is pansexual. History is [REDACTED] though she seems to take her position under MIRA quite seriously. Physical characteristics include short, pitch-black hair worn in an asymmetrical haircut, dark brown (almost black) eyes, and light skin. She stands at 5'11" and weighs 159 lbs. She is The Skeldon Crew's co-captain, carrying out numerous and various tasks, including working directly under the team's leader White, though she also has her hand in navigation.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading as far as you have! any kudos, comments, bookmarks, etc. are appreciated. be safe and stay awesome!!


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